


Cold as Death Itself- an Assassin's Tale

by thelistenersfury



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Eventually some Main quest stuff, Gen, No sex or rapey trigger stuff, Read at your own risk I guess?, Really the only content warnings I can think of are violence and torture, The m rating is entirely for violence, There is also blood., There is lots of murder, aroace main, no primary ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6813922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelistenersfury/pseuds/thelistenersfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes a specific kind of person to be an assassin. Alanna is just that kind, and she takes to it with great joy. What she didn't expect was to find a family along the way.<br/>I wanted it to feel like you're still playing the game, but with extra story and depth added. In short, it's more like what I imagine when I do play. Enjoy, don't enjoy, really it's up to you. There is definitely murder and dark themes, but no sex. Also if anyone can think of a better title, please do let me know. Enjoy my favourite little edgelord. Please tell me what you think. I am still actively working on this, and hopefully will have more of a turnaround soon, since I'm gonna be able to afford ADHD medication that will actually allow me to write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Chapter One - Preface:**

Growing up in the Imperial City's Waterfront District is tough. Growing up without a proper family for support is even harder, especially for a Dunmer.

My name is Alanna Maliirain, and the following is a chronicle of my misadventures, as our matron the night mother suggested I write. There are so few of us left now… That's getting ahead of the story, so I guess I'll start at the beginning, and will try to be as accurate as I can remember, though I can't guarantee that it will be free from embellishment.

My parents were never around, they left me behind when they left Cyrodiil for Morrowind. I was three, and alone in the world, wandering the streets of the waterfront, when my "aunt" found me. An altmer woman, Margarrete took me into her shack after her own daughter died and her husband fled from alleged responsibility.

The peasants that inhabit the outer reaches of the capital were a close-knit community, so everyone knew everything about each other. I heard the whispers. "Why in the name of Akatosh would she take in an orphan? She barely has enough food for herself!” and “That girl is a strange one, no doubt about that.” Contrary to what you might believe, I wasn't completely ostracized. I had friends, well, one anyway, an imperial named Volrina Caro. Her pale skin and stark blue eyes made a splendid contrast with my red eyes and ashen complexion. We were quite the pair back then, running up and down the shores of Lake Rumare. She was always the meek one, and I was the one who had to save our asses when we got into trouble. And in the waterfront district, being in trouble with the law was unavoidable.

Most adult residents pledged their allegiance the Grey Fox, the elusive leader Thieves Guild, the group of pickpockets and catburglars that bordered on the mythical. In return for their loyalty, the Guild protected them, and it's against guild law to steal from the poor, especially those on the waterfront. That isn't to say we were completely safe, people bitter about failing to join the Guild sometimes took out their failures on the residents. One night when Volrina and I were 10, we became the target of one such individual.

Even then we had already starting to hate being poor, hated having to sleep in one tiny room with our families. So, every night the weather was warm enough, we camped out under a tree outside my aunt's shack. I think we enjoyed the illusion of freedom more than anything.

It was a hot Last Seed night, so hot that we weren't even in our bedrolls, just lying on top of them. Volrina had been asleep for hours, but my eyes refused to close, so I looked at the stars above.

I smelled his torch before I saw him. I assumed he would pass by, like all the others, but his angry demeanor only intensified when he saw us.

"Come here you little imperial brat." He spat, rousing her from sleep. She gave off a bone chilling scream as he attempted to assault her, luckily for my stunned and temporarily useless brain, he was interrupted by an Imperial guard that happened to be making his rounds.

"Stop. You violated the law. You can either come with me now or resist arrest. I'm hoping for the latter, child molesting scum."

"You, imperial dog! You think you can kill me?" Drawing his sword in midair, the sleazy breton viciously attacked the officer. With the benefit of surprise, he managed to send the blade straight through his armor –which wasn’t actually as sturdy as you might think the protectors of our glorious empire would be- piercing his heart. As he fell to his knees, the attacker, believing he had won, laughed in the kneeling guard's face, kicking him all the way to the ground. Foolish in victory, a last swing of the guard's silver standard issue longsword found its mark and sliced the scumbag's stomach open. Thick red blood pooled down his front, the breton cried out in shock, dropping his torch, and falling back in panic and surprise. I saw him fumble with a ring, and somehow knew it was a healing enchantment. Something inside me snapped, and I couldn't stand the thought of this pig hurting Volrina. I a cold hardness settled over my brain and my hands had stopped shaking by the time they closed around the guard’s fallen longsword. I stood up, and the breton hardly had time to register surprise before I plunged the blade into his abdomen. His blood ran over my hands as the blade slid out of the body when I pulled the sword back, the splatter staining the whole area.

Most children would feel repulsed by the act, but for some reason I felt content, in control. For the first time in my life, I had been able to drastically improve my life with my own actions, and with his death I felt like a great wrong had been settled. I felt a grin come over my face, it spread as far as it could go.

A small whimper brought the rest of the world back into focus. I’d been so caught up in the moment that everything else had faded to a dull roar, and I'd forgotten entirely about Volrina. She was curled into a ball on the ground, small, and too scared to even watch the proceedings. I dropped the blade I was still clutching tightly and laid my hand on her shoulder.

"Shush, everything is okay now. He's dead. Are you hurt?" She sat up then, slowly, and as she looked at me, her eyes widened with selfless concern.

"I'm... I'm okay. But you… All that blood…"

"It isn't mine, I don't have a scratch on me." I gave her a comforting grin, and she almost smiled back.

"What happened here? Are you kids all right?" My next-door neighbor, a young redguard named Armand, had heard the commotion. He took charge quickly after I explained what happened.

Although it was completely in self-defense, my aunt raged at me as if it was my fault. She was an incredibly chauvinistic woman, insisting that girls should not be allowed to fight, or even hold a weapon. A “proper” lady’s weapon was magic, and anything else was dirty and unclean. After that night we were never allowed to camp out again, at least while she was home.

She worked in the mines a way east of the city, and as I grew older and more able to take care of myself, she more often than not would spend nights there to avoid the commute. I cherished the time she was gone and soon came to dread her return.

After my "incident" with the breton, she had made me pray and beg forgiveness from the Divine's for my unclean act. I actually had tried, but the second I approached the altar I felt as if a thousand shock spells were cast into my body, along with a serious feeling of being unwanted. I only just avoided the onlooking priestesses learning about my excommunication. I told my aunt that I'd been forgiven, if only to avoid the confrontation.

Because of its size, I was unable to keep the dead guard’s sword, but I did manage to hide one of the breton daggers from my aunt. It was made of iron, but I treasured it as if it were ruby. I would polish it every night after my aunt went to bed, and I would practice it with it every chance I got. I tried to train Volrina too, but she would always insist that she was happy just watching me.

I quickly realized that I had scared everyone that night, and to ever be trusted again I would have to learn how to blend in. I stopped practicing in view of anyone but Volrina, stopped smiling at distasteful jokes, and most importantly I ignored the desire for blood building inside me, feeling like I was covering up every part of who I was becoming. I didn't want to admit it, even to myself, but the way my mind kept replaying that night over and over again left me no way to deny it. I wanted to do it again, and the urge was strong. I longed for the peace of mind I'd had the night ended that breton's life. I managed to keep it in check for three years before I was presented with a temptation I just couldn't refuse.

On the nights that my aunt, was working, I had taken to breaking into rich people's houses and stealing their gold while they were gone, saving money to leave the waterfront behind. I had always timed my escapades that no one was in the house at the time, but on this occasion when I broke to the upper lock into the bedroom, a person I didn't account for was asleep in a bed. I froze for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. I knew I could just leave, try another house. That would have been the safest, and most morally righteous thing to do in this situation. I knew it was "wrong" to even think about what was currently going through my mind, but I had never put much stock in the rules of society, since a lot of them didn't really register as something bad to me. I realized that this was a chance to do what I wanted to do for years, and I took it without a regret.

I locked the door behind me and sent a slipshod wave of magic around me to dampen some of the noise. It wasn't pretty, or elegant, but it would do. I drew my precious dagger and crept up to my unsuspecting victim. It was an orc; powerful shoulders rose and fell with every breath. I watched her breathe for a few moments, timing my own to match. Then, with a cold smile I did what I had wanted to do for so long. I dragged my blade across her neck, feeling only slight resistance and the edge sliced through tendon as it were butter. As she woke up in a desperate panic, I took a seat at the foot of the bed and watched her moan and scream in pain and helpless frustration, laughing with pure joy at a desire fulfilled.

It was a hasty kill, not planned, and much quicker than I would have liked, but oh was it satisfying. As her screams and breath fell silent, a wave of cold contentment ran though me, and it was so powerful I might have fallen if I hadn't been sitting down. I just knew that the next time would be even better if I had time to prepare, and I was absolutely sure there would be a next time.

In addition to my first cold blooded murder and the beginning of many, many more to come, the orc’s death also opened up many financial doors for me as well. Most people in Cyrodiil enchanted their entire houses with an anti-thievery spells. When taken without permission, items would emit a faint but unmistakable red glow. Stolen items couldn't be sold to even semi honest merchants; they would unleash the law dogs on you if you tried to barter something, and you would be arrested as sure as if they'd been caught in the act of taking it. That's why, in my early forays into thievery, I'd only taken gold, as the metal resisted almost any sort of enchantment. Sometimes however, a spell would break when owner or the enchanter died, as I found was the case with this Orc's property. I couldn't carry all of it that first night; I was only a teenager, and very small for my age as well. Even the rich and spoiled bosmer boy in the fancy brocade clothes who sometimes visited the lake shore to torture the mud crabs that crawled there was taller than me.

The orc's heavy, expensive armor and the profit it gave me were the beginnings of my exploration career. With money I was able to travel, travel and have the equipment needed to defend myself adequately. And if I could travel, then I could kill without arousing suspicion by staying in the same place. There were plenty of bandits strewn about, and if you managed to separate one from the group and catch one by surprise, you could drag them off and have some real, personal one on one fun with them. Once I gave in that first time, nothing else truly mattered to me on that same level, and any residual plans for an honest future dried up. Even Volrina became less and less important to me, my best friend, and in those days, I may very well have killed her if I went too long without.

I couldn't let anyone know this of course, but that was mostly easy, it wasn't much of a stretch from what I had already been doing. There were some close calls with the law, but amazingly, I got away with it, even as I graduated from bandits and beggars to people in their own homes.

I carried on like I was a normal girl, if a somewhat antisocial one. I still smiled, still made conversation with my aunt, and even sometimes went to church with them, although their gods provoked no loyalty inside me. I went on this way for years, "traveling" when my aunt was away; playing the respectable citizen when she was here.

In the spring of my seventeenth year, my aunt had been home for almost three months on account of a mine collapse. It had been driving me insane, everything and anything making me irritable enough to rip out a throat with my teeth and punch through walls. Every interaction was exhausting, and there was no privacy or solitude in our shack. I yearned for my freedom, but instead there was her.

Eventually the need became too strong to ignore, and my already splintering resolve cracked. I snuck into a neighbor's shack, put a gag in his mouth, and relished as my blade slid into his flesh over and over and over, dozens of wounds became one that spread across his entire abdomen by the end. He’d tried to scream through his cloth, and his writhing had only made me want more. When he was dead-if we're being honest here it was a good deal after that point before I regained control and managed to stop- and some sanity and control returned to me, I had to make a wild, exhilaratingly risky sprint to the lake, and only through the purest dumb luck did I make it without being seen drenched in blood and viscera. Somehow, by that same run of luck, I managed to get back home without being seen.

It was as I walked in the door, my ruined clothes dripping lake water, and I saw my aunt's peacefully sleeping face illuminated by the moonlight through the open door, that it fully dawned on me. If I was ever to have a shot at happiness, my aunt would have to be eliminated.


	2. Unforeseen Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alanna earns her freedom

**Chapter Two - Unforeseen Consequences:**

I began plotting that night after I'd disposed of my clothes, far too exhilarated to sleep. I lay on my bedroll with my eyes closed, not being able to settle on the location. The mine would be isolated and well away from the guard, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but the proximity of the other miners made it likely that I wouldn’t have much time alone with my dear aunt. And I wanted her to see. I wanted to see her face as I dropped my ever-present charade and she realized what I was capable of.

There was the possibility of inside our shack, although that would put a lot of scrutiny on me, something I obviously wanted to avoid at all costs, especially with my incident seven years previously, and the neighborhood would probably be on high alert because of the fun I'd just had. I tossed and turned until around dawn, when a plan finally came to mind that satisfied all of my needs.

The next day, I stood outside my house, and put on my leather traveling armor and strapped my quiver to my back. I had, as far as Aunt Margarette knew, not used a weapon since I was 10. I've mentioned before her attempts to civilize me, and her disdain for women who fought and drew blood, so I was expecting quite the reaction. I'd also done perhaps the only thing appearance-wise that could outrage her more. Down on the shores of the lake, I had brought my dagger to my long black hair, cutting it short and slightly covering one side of my face. I enjoyed the effect immensely; it framed my face, making my red gaze look even fiercer than it already did. I took a deep breath before going inside and rested my hand on the dagger strapped to my waist, knowing that my life was about to change forever.

When I first opened the door and walked inside, Margarette didn't recognize me, and looked like she was about to warn off an intruder. Then her eyes narrowed, squinting like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"Hello Aunt Margarette!" I beamed, moving to sit beside her at the table. "We need to talk about a few things." I remarked as I crunched on an apple and put my booted feet on the table with as much mercenary bluster as I could muster. She looked at me with complete bewilderment for a few seconds, then exploded, her face huffy.

"What Talos's name has gone into you Alanna?" She screeched, her voice raising so sharply I had to wince as it reached my ears.

"I have a confession to make, Auntie. I'm not going to be the kind and proper lady you illogically wish me to be, considering we live in squalor and I'm no great beauty. I can't wait for a husband to come and take care of me, and even if I could, I wouldn't be happy doing it. I’m going to take care of myself, and to that effect, I'm leaving. However, I care deeply for you, and couldn’t stand it if you were to worry about me. So, let me show you what I can do; I’ve been training myself for years, and I believe I'm ready for everything Cyrodiil has to offer.”

“What exactly did you have in mind?” She asked me with narrowed eyes. I smiled internally; I had her on the hook.

“Let me take you to a cave not far from here and clear it out. This way you can see that I know how to handle myself.” She sat in stunned silence, clearly thinking it over. I could tell that she would agree, but only because she thought I would fail. I could almost picture her thoughts, imagining coming to the rescue with her altmer magic, saving the day and forcing me to stay with her.

“What about your beautiful hair? Why did you have to cut it?” She responded a lot more calmly than before, clearly assured of my failure.

“It might get in the way of my bowstring or be grabbed in combat.” I saw her flinch at the mention of violence. “Please, I know you care for me, so please, love me enough to let me have a chance at happiness.” That struck a visible chord on her heartstrings, which I then proceeded to play like a lute with the sincerest expression I could manage.

“I suppose, if the cave isn’t too dangerous, that we could do this, if only to ease my nerves.”

“Oh, yes, it's not very hard! A few rats, maybe a zombie or a goblin, it isn’t like it's a vampire den or something like that. When can we go? Is the mine still closed?” I asked her pleadingly, eager to begin the next phase of my plan.

“If you put on some decent clothes.” she began, glancing down at my leather. “And sit down to eat, we can go as soon as we finish lunch, providing it isn’t too far away. I'd like to be home well before nightfall.”

“You don’t have to worry about that! Thank you, thank you so much! I can't tell you what this means to me!” I gushed like a schoolgirl, ignoring the internal distaste I felt at my play acting, knowing that I soon wouldn’t have to act any longer, at least to her. It was a pain to change out of my armor, knowing that I would just be putting it back on later, but it was worth it. I ate my food as fast as I could, and then nearly went mad watching Margarette chew every morsel of the stale bread and slightly moldy cheese. To resist the urge to attack her then and there, I focused on reattaching my armor, piece by piece, checking every single leather strap. I replaced my quiver and settled my bow in its familiar place over my shoulder just as she finished eating. The second she stood up, I thrust her decrepit staff into her arms and hustled her out the door.

We set out for the cave I had chosen at a grudgingly slow pace. It would've been much faster if we had swum across lake like I wanted to, but Margarette didn't want to get her clothes wet. Instead, we spent an extra hour going around the lake to the closest bridge, the one on the west side of the lake, then back around the shore all the way to the east. A journey that would take me thirty minutes by myself, took us a full three hours.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" She asked me when we finally approached the waterlogged door. By this time, I had already come close to ditching the plan and killing her on the road about seventeen times; nothing was going to stop me now. I handed her a water bottle with a concerned smile on my face.

"Sorry, Auntie, I'm not backing out now. You must be thirsty after that walk, have some water." I let out an imperceptible side of relief when she took the water skin from my hands and the laced liquid spilled down her throat and entered the cave.

Instead of the complex mazes and labyrinthine corridors that most of Cyrodiil's caves consisted of, this one was small, maybe fifty feet all around. That was not the only thing that set it apart from the rest. It was devoid of life, not even plant life grew in the cracks between the rock walls. A square stone slab dominated the interior, like some arcane altar. When I'd found this place in my travels, I've been delighted to discover that it even had chains, and they had held up well against its resident necromancer.

Almost as soon as the cave door closed, the sleeping potion took effect, and I was able to drag my aunt's limp form to the slab. Half an hour later, my tools were set up, and her eyes were beginning to flicker with consciousness.

"… Alanna What…..Uh….What's going on?" She groaned.

"Something that has been a very long time coming." I said to her, dropping any hint of pretense from my face and voice. "My dearest aunt. Today you will meet me for the first time. Not the facade I've shown every day for the past seven years, but the pure, unabridged Alanna."

"What in the name of Arkay are you talking about?" Her voice rose in panic, and she began struggling against her bindings. "Let me go this instant! Just stop whatever it is you're planning to do, let's forget this whole thing!"

"Oh, but there isn't a chance in Oblivion that I will stop; you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this for." I replied with a grin, my voice shaking oh so slightly in anticipation.

"What is it you plan to do here?" She had grown calm, the hysterics slipping from her voice.

"Since I am very eager, and I don't have much patience for narrative, I will be blunt. To this day, I have murdered fifty-six people in cold blood. The man who attacked Volrina that night when I was a child does not count in that tally, and neither do you, yet." I relished the moment as her eyes widened with fear and sudden realization, drinking it in. "I'm going to kill you now, but not right away. It will be slow. Painful. By the time I'm done with you, dear auntie, you will be begging for the end. You will wish that you'd have left me on the streets all those years ago. I'm going to make you scream, for the exquisite shivers it will give my very soul, for all the times you held me back, for every time you made me go to the chapel of your gods, and for your crappy shack on the Waterfront. This will be the most fun I've had in ages. Because you followed me into the middle of nowhere, I have no need to quell your cries with a gag." I brought my dagger to her hand, and with a little effort I dug out one of her fingernails, just to give her a taste of what was to come. Between her glorious, anguish filled wails she managed to choke out one word.

"Why?"

That gave me a little, curious pause. I was doing this for fun, that much was certain. I was doing it for the way it made me feel. But why did I feel this way? I certainly never met someone else who did, even though it would be interesting. What made me different from everyone else in Tamriel? I didn't know the answer that question, so put it out of my mind, deciding not to dwell on it.

"Because it makes me feel, and it feels amazing." I attempted to give my aunt an answer. "It feels better than you could possibly imagine."

"What happened to you? What happened to the bright and happy girl who sat by me in the chapel only a week ago? The girl who whispered prayers under her breath when she thought no one else could hear?" She was crying now; great big pathetic pools were welling up in her eyes.

"That girl was a lie. Every move was part of an elaborate plan to look respectable, to waylay suspicion. Your gods are not my own; I pray to no deity. I'm going to start in earnest now, if you care about my happiness at all please, struggle, scream, don't give in." I spat at her, my voice full of menace and anticipation. "If you don't fight, it isn't as much fun."

By the time the torches I'd set up had burned low, all that remained of my aunt was a mutilated shell. I had removed all her minor extremities one by one, counting aloud to myself as I went. I had then moved on to the limbs at whole, cauterizing the edges with a spell like I'd seen the healers do to stop blood flow; letting her live was the farthest thing from my intention, but if she bled out I couldn't play with her anymore. I then set to work on her yellow skin, slowly peeling off neat two-inch strips, something that I had always wanted to try but had never before been given the opportunity. She died with half the flesh hanging off her bones.

Late0r that night I slipped into the only real bed in the house, knowing it now belonged completely to me. I replayed the afternoon over in my mind, determined to remember every detail, before slipping, satisfied, into the deepest sleep I've had to date.

Not long after that night, an Imperial guard came investigating my aunt's disappearance. After questioning me, believing my lies, and the suicide note I'd forged, he seemed like he was heading back to the watchtower to report his superior before going about his daily life. Instead he saw Volrina passing by and decided that she was worth dominating. It was common for her to have to fend off advances made by men. She was "gifted" with almost otherworldly beautiful features, and her passive and gentle temperament made her seem even more vulnerable than she really was. If I was in her position, I'd almost rather contract a horrible, face scarring disease.

It was lucky that I was still standing on the porch and was able to see the look in the guard's eyes. It was a look that I knew well, that of a hunter chasing prey. I just watched for a while as he talked to her, but the second he laid his hands on her arm I was there, slamming him roughly that up against the city wall.

"Back away, now, before I'm forced to get violent." There was fear in his eyes at my words, fear that hardened into resolve.

"Filthy Dark Elf, you're under arrest for assault. And you, imperial, for attempting to pick my pocket." I drew my blade and threw myself at him, severing the arteries on his throat before he could even react. Volrina curled up in a ball as I turned to face the hordes of guards coming to their comrades' aid. I would have fought viciously to my death, and I managed to dispatch three of them, but three other metal plated morons grabbed me and held me down, before dragging me all the way to a cell and the prison district. I saw them shove Volrina's unconscious body into the cell adjacent to me. I screamed in rage at the retreating figures, vainly trying to break through the cell door, combat adrenaline still rushing through me.

"Hello again, I knew I'd be seeing you here soon." My old "friend" from the first time I was thrown in prison, Valen Dreth, greeted me. "Your kind never stays away long. What are you in for this time?" He asked scathingly.

"Dreth, I will rip your head from your neck if you don't shut up and tell me if she's alright." I spat.

"Well which is it? Shut up or talk?" I growled at him. "You mean the pretty blonde girl? She isn't moving, apart from her breath."

"To Oblivion with this!" I sighed and set to work on picking the lock with the pick I'd smuggled in. In a matter of seconds, it was open.

"Hey! I'm sorry for what I said, let me out, please! Don't leave me here!" I ignored the begging elf and tried to open Volrina's cage. The pick snapped and left me with a metal splinter and no way of getting my friend out. I heard noise coming down the corridor, and I had no choice but to leave her. I slipped out through the door at the top of the winding staircase. There was one man snoozing behind the counter but in six steps I was out the door and home free. They hadn't had time to change my clothes to prison rags, so I held my head high and used my best fake smile to stroll out of the prison district, right under the noses of about twenty of the city's finest.

After I crossed the bridge, I climbed on the cliff face and dropped to the water without a splash. I swam to the shore by my shack and rose, dripping, from the water. There were no guards in sight, so I opened the door, locking it behind me. I changed out of the sopping, course woven skirt I wore while I was home and into my armor. I put some bread, a couple potions, and all the gold I had into a satchel, picked up my quiver and put my bow on my shoulder. I left the house and approached the great walls of the city. I circled them until I reached the bridge leaving the island to the east. I headed north slightly off the main road and just walked.

Night began to fall, and I was exhausted after my ordeal, so when I saw the Roxy Inn I ducked inside the doorway. I paid the innkeeper for my room and was soon asleep.

Chapter 3 - Covenant:

I woke as an unnatural chill descended on my skin. I lay still listening. At first, I could only hear my own breathing, then a creak and muted metal sounds. I heard the air rush from the warm room to the colder hallway as my door was unlocked and opened. In the weak light I saw a shadow enter, as quickly as a snake the dinner knife off the bedside table was at its throat. Laughter rose from the hooded figure.

"I've been watching you for a quite some time, and you sleep rather soundly for a murderer. That's good. You'll need a clear conscience for what I'm about to propose."

"Who are you, and why did you break into my room?" I responded calmly and firmly, without lowering my blade.

"I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you, you are a killer. A taker of life. A harvester of souls. Your work, your deathcraft, pleases the Night Mother. And so, I come to you with an offering. An opportunity... to join our rather unique family." Intrigued, I lowered my blade, closed the door, and gestured to the chair placed near the bed. I sat down and spoke.

"Go on, I'm listening."

"Then heed my words, for I will not repeat them." His melodrama made me chuckle a little. "On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen."

"I know of it." I had spent the night there a few times

"There you will find a man named Rufio." He continued, looking slightly miffed at my interruption "Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family."

"First tell me, what is the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Have you not heard of the Dark Brotherhood? Of the remorseless guild of paid assassins and homicidal cutthroats? Join us, and you'll find the Dark Brotherhood to be all that, and so much more. We are, more than anything, a union of like-minded individuals. We kill for profit, for enjoyment, and for the glory of the Dread Father, Sithis. We are family, with bonds forged in blood and death." I'm sure my eyes were lighting up at his words. It sounded like a dream; being paid and respected for what I do best.

"Rufio is as good as dead."

"Excellent!" He was positively grinning. "Now please, accept this token from the Dark Brotherhood. It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve your endeavors well." He handed me an ornate black metallic blade inlaid with gold accents. "It's called the Blade of Woe." I gasped at it; it was the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen.

"Thank you, it's beautiful. Can you tell me anything else about Rufio?"

"Know that he is old, weak, and sleeps his days away. You could kill him before he even has a chance to wake if you so choose." With that he vanished, right before my eyes. The door opened, as if of its own volition, and I was left staring at the empty door frame. With an exasperated sigh --he could've at least shut the door-- I got up and closed for him, then settled back down on the thin mattress. It was still black as pitch outside, so I intended to go back to sleep, but Lucien had given me too much to think about and hadn't stay long enough to answer my questions. My mind kept replaying what he'd said about "like-minded individuals". I was extremely eager to meet them, but I knew I needed rest, so I did what I always did to quiet my mind. I went over my past kills, with every relived memory I got closer to sleep, until I finally passed the veil as my aunt died, yet again.

A very annoying bird woke me up the next morning. Because of the summer heat, I'd left the window open. It was sitting right on the sill, chirping for all its worth. I fumbled sleepily for my bow, and without getting up notched an arrow and sent it straight through its tiny body. When I was more awake, I wish I hadn't, because my supply of arrows was running low. I had started to pack, when my eyes lighted on the Blade of Woe, and last night's visit came flooding back to my mind. My concentration focused on one thing. Rufio. I hastened my packing, and slipped out the open window, not wanting to deal with the social interaction of the innkeeper.

“The Dark Brotherhood, huh?” I thought to myself as I walked south down the cobbled road. Soon the flat stones gave way to hard dirt as I put the Imperial City farther behind me. I passed several guards on horseback, but since they let me continue unhindered I assumed that I didn't have a bounty. At about midday, the trees parted and the sights, and smell, of Bravil greeted me. Dammit, I must have walked straight past the Inn, so absorbed inside of my own head.

About midday, I turned at the right time, and walked in the doors of the Inn of Ill Omen. I approached the counter, intending to buy a pint in order to not seem suspicious while I searched for my prey, when the friendly innkeeper gave me everything I needed to know in one sentence.

"Welcome to the Inn of Ill Omen, we always have a room available. The only person who stays here is Rufio downstairs."

"Who's he?" I asked, with convincing nonchalance.

"This old man, spends all his time downstairs in what I call the private quarters. You can go see him if you want, but don't expect a warm welcome. The way he acts you would think he was being hunted by someone."

"No thanks." I replied. "My curiosity doesn't go that far."

"Suit yourself. Now then, what'll it be?"

"I'd like a room for the night, if you please." I laid out ten septims on the rough wooden surface.

"It's all yours. Upstairs third room on the right, let me know if you need anything else." Smiling broadly, I went up the stairs, wincing at every creak –that was going to be a nuisance-- located my room, and drew the bolt behind me. I set my pack down and leaned my bow and accompanying quiver against the chair. I tried busying myself with inspecting every piece of equipment I had, but that was finished quickly, and there was still far too much time left before night fell and the occupants of the Inn went to sleep. I was eager to begin, but the daylight and the importance of the kill screamed at me, ordering patience. I succumbed, I never killed during the daytime anyway if I could help it. For some reason the sun didn't do the same thing the moons did for me.

With that settled to myself, I still had hours left to go with only a copy of Bravil's guidebook to read. After two paragraphs my eyes wandered to the hilt my new blade; it was sticking out of my pack. I fished out and as I was holding it, for the first time I realized that the dagger had carried for seven years was gone, most likely logged into evidence somewhere. Its loss gave me a slight twinge in my chest, a very unexpected and unfamiliar sensation that soon disappeared. I belted the ornate ebony dagger in its new place. It seemed fitting somehow, a new blade for a new chapter in my life. Although I would miss the cold iron, certainly not the life I'd had. Thinking practically, I probably should have replaced it years ago.

After what felt like an eternity, Masser and Secunda finally took their place in the obsidian sky. As if it could sense my intent, the larger of the two was emitting a blood red light. Casting my detect life spell, one of the only actual spells I bothered with, I saw two gleaming shapes of purple light, both stretched out horizontally, and when neither moved for several agonizing minutes, I knew it was time.

There's no way I would've been able to make it down the ancient staircase without a creak, so I climbed out the side of the window and reentered the building through the front door. The Nord innkeeper was snoring lightly on the bedroll behind the counter. Moving on the balls of my feet, I crept close enough to smell him. Regretting that the business nature of this kill prevented me from fully enjoying myself, I quickly slit his throat. He tried to scream, but it only came out as a harmless gurgle. I chuckled as I watched him thrash valiantly, but all too soon he grew still. Sighing I moved on the balls of my feet, raised the trapdoor in the corner, and carefully descended the ladder. I landed lightly in a hallway. There were two doors, but Rufio's light only shone behind one. With hardly a touch of my picks the tumblers clicked into place and I open the door silently.

Lucien hadn't been kidding when he'd called Rufio old and feeble. The old breton was so thin it was a wonder that he was still alive. I almost wanted to check for a pulse, and probably would have if it wasn't for the rattling breaths his unconscious body was laboring to produce.

Since I'd already taken care of the innkeeper, and there was nobody else in the Inn, I decided to have a little fun with him first. Not much, mind you, this was business after all, but I couldn't resist. I carefully climbed the bed frame, balancing on the posts, then jumped onto the mattress, sending the old man three feet up and scaring him more than half to death. The look on his face was priceless as his head spun around comically, then abruptly stopped when he spotted me. Granted I was laughing maniacally, but still, he couldn't even see my eyes, so I wasn't quite sure what he was so afraid of; to the world I looked more than harmless. Whatever the source of his terror, it caused him to bolt from the room, much faster than I believed possible on his weakened limbs. He had made it almost halfway up the exit ladder before I easily reached him and pulled him off it. It turned out his legs were as weak as I'd suspected, because when he landed, there was a resounding crack as his femur snapped and he plummeted quickly to the ground. I looked down at his moaning figure.

"Thank you, Rufio. That was most diverting! I’ve never chased one of my victims before." He whimpered at the word, and then asked the same clichéd question they always do.

"Why?" He could hardly get the word out.

"For once, I actually have an answer to that question. You see, Rufio, the Dark Brotherhood has come, I'm not technically in yet, but after I take your life I will be, you are my initiation you see."

"Oh, please no! I can pay you! Name your price! Anything please, I didn't mean to do it, you understand me? She struggled! I…… I told her to stay still but she wouldn't listen! I had no – –" Growing bored with his tirade, I violently cut off his words at his Adam's apple, and was very pleased with how easily my new blade accomplished its task, so pleased that I also stabbed it into his hardly beating heart, and shivered with pleasure as it finally stopped, and he fell to a crumpled heap at my feet.

Usually I like to take a seat and just relax for a while after kill, but this time was different, so I skipped that part of my routine. I kicked Rufio's corpse out of the way and climbed up the ladder. I'd left my things under my window, and as soon as I had retrieved them, I moved past the inn, mostly Southeast. When I was far enough away, I began clearing the patch of tall grass in front of me of any rocks or other various surprises. Finding nothing, I made myself as comfortable as possible and went to sleep under the light of the moons.

XXX

 

Volrina woke and strained to see in the dim light the high window provided. She was in a small, filthy, cell, and what little of herself she could see made her dry retch. She was covered in blood; the collective dried mess was more than a person could lose and still live. She tried desperately to remember, and as soon as she did, she wished she hadn't.

Alanna. It had been her, there the second she had begun to feel frightened of the guard. The expression on her friend's face reminded Volrina of that night, where she had again protected her. It was alive, and utterly terrifying. She had smiled as her dagger had moved with blinding speed into the guard’s neck, a smile so genuine that it made Volrina realize that the ones she had seen over the years and had thought were real, were only pale imitations. The last thing she remembered before the blinding pain and blackness was Alanna moving between guards with uncanny speed and masterful skill, clearly enjoying herself.

Then, Volrina did throw up.


	3. Covenant

Chapter 3 - Covenant:

I woke as an unnatural chill descended on my skin. I lay still listening. At first, I could only hear my own breathing, then a creak and muted metal sounds. I heard the air rush from the warm room to the colder hallway as my door was unlocked and opened. In the weak light I saw a shadow enter, as quickly as a snake the dinner knife off the bedside table was at its throat. Laughter rose from the hooded figure.

"I've been watching you for a quite some time, and you sleep rather soundly for a murderer. That's good. You'll need a clear conscience for what I'm about to propose."

"Who are you, and why did you break into my room?" I responded calmly and firmly, without lowering my blade.

"I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you, you are a killer. A taker of life. A harvester of souls. Your work, your deathcraft, pleases the Night Mother. And so, I come to you with an offering. An opportunity... to join our rather unique family." Intrigued, I lowered my blade, closed the door, and gestured to the chair placed near the bed. I sat down and spoke.

"Go on, I'm listening."

"Then heed my words, for I will not repeat them." His melodrama made me chuckle a little. "On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen."

"I know of it." I had spent the night there a few times

"There you will find a man named Rufio." He continued, looking slightly miffed at my interruption "Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete. Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family."

"First tell me, what is the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Have you not heard of the Dark Brotherhood? Of the remorseless guild of paid assassins and homicidal cutthroats? Join us, and you'll find the Dark Brotherhood to be all that, and so much more. We are, more than anything, a union of like-minded individuals. We kill for profit, for enjoyment, and for the glory of the Dread Father, Sithis. We are family, with bonds forged in blood and death." I'm sure my eyes were lighting up at his words. It sounded like a dream; being paid and respected for what I do best.

"Rufio is as good as dead."

"Excellent!" He was positively grinning. "Now please, accept this token from the Dark Brotherhood. It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve your endeavors well." He handed me an ornate black metallic blade inlaid with gold accents. "It's called the Blade of Woe." I gasped at it; it was the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen.

"Thank you, it's beautiful. Can you tell me anything else about Rufio?"

"Know that he is old, weak, and sleeps his days away. You could kill him before he even has a chance to wake if you so choose." With that he vanished, right before my eyes. The door opened, as if of its own volition, and I was left staring at the empty door frame. With an exasperated sigh --he could've at least shut the door-- I got up and closed for him, then settled back down on the thin mattress. It was still black as pitch outside, so I intended to go back to sleep, but Lucien had given me too much to think about and hadn't stay long enough to answer my questions. My mind kept replaying what he'd said about "like-minded individuals". I was extremely eager to meet them, but I knew I needed rest, so I did what I always did to quiet my mind. I went over my past kills, with every relived memory I got closer to sleep, until I finally passed the veil as my aunt died, yet again.

A very annoying bird woke me up the next morning. Because of the summer heat, I'd left the window open. It was sitting right on the sill, chirping for all its worth. I fumbled sleepily for my bow, and without getting up notched an arrow and sent it straight through its tiny body. When I was more awake, I wish I hadn't, because my supply of arrows was running low. I had started to pack, when my eyes lighted on the Blade of Woe, and last night's visit came flooding back to my mind. My concentration focused on one thing. Rufio. I hastened my packing, and slipped out the open window, not wanting to deal with the social interaction of the innkeeper.

“The Dark Brotherhood, huh?” I thought to myself as I walked south down the cobbled road. Soon the flat stones gave way to hard dirt as I put the Imperial City farther behind me. I passed several guards on horseback, but since they let me continue unhindered I assumed that I didn't have a bounty. At about midday, the trees parted and the sights, and smell, of Bravil greeted me. Dammit, I must have walked straight past the Inn, so absorbed inside of my own head.

About midday, I turned at the right time, and walked in the doors of the Inn of Ill Omen. I approached the counter, intending to buy a pint in order to not seem suspicious while I searched for my prey, when the friendly innkeeper gave me everything I needed to know in one sentence.

"Welcome to the Inn of Ill Omen, we always have a room available. The only person who stays here is Rufio downstairs."

"Who's he?" I asked, with convincing nonchalance.

"This old man, spends all his time downstairs in what I call the private quarters. You can go see him if you want, but don't expect a warm welcome. The way he acts you would think he was being hunted by someone."

"No thanks." I replied. "My curiosity doesn't go that far."

"Suit yourself. Now then, what'll it be?"

"I'd like a room for the night, if you please." I laid out ten septims on the rough wooden surface.

"It's all yours. Upstairs third room on the right, let me know if you need anything else." Smiling broadly, I went up the stairs, wincing at every creak –that was going to be a nuisance-- located my room, and drew the bolt behind me. I set my pack down and leaned my bow and accompanying quiver against the chair. I tried busying myself with inspecting every piece of equipment I had, but that was finished quickly, and there was still far too much time left before night fell and the occupants of the Inn went to sleep. I was eager to begin, but the daylight and the importance of the kill screamed at me, ordering patience. I succumbed, I never killed during the daytime anyway if I could help it. For some reason the sun didn't do the same thing the moons did for me.

With that settled to myself, I still had hours left to go with only a copy of Bravil's guidebook to read. After two paragraphs my eyes wandered to the hilt my new blade; it was sticking out of my pack. I fished out and as I was holding it, for the first time I realized that the dagger had carried for seven years was gone, most likely logged into evidence somewhere. Its loss gave me a slight twinge in my chest, a very unexpected and unfamiliar sensation that soon disappeared. I belted the ornate ebony dagger in its new place. It seemed fitting somehow, a new blade for a new chapter in my life. Although I would miss the cold iron, certainly not the life I'd had. Thinking practically, I probably should have replaced it years ago.

After what felt like an eternity, Masser and Secunda finally took their place in the obsidian sky. As if it could sense my intent, the larger of the two was emitting a blood red light. Casting my detect life spell, one of the only actual spells I bothered with, I saw two gleaming shapes of purple light, both stretched out horizontally, and when neither moved for several agonizing minutes, I knew it was time.

There's no way I would've been able to make it down the ancient staircase without a creak, so I climbed out the side of the window and reentered the building through the front door. The Nord innkeeper was snoring lightly on the bedroll behind the counter. Moving on the balls of my feet, I crept close enough to smell him. Regretting that the business nature of this kill prevented me from fully enjoying myself, I quickly slit his throat. He tried to scream, but it only came out as a harmless gurgle. I chuckled as I watched him thrash valiantly, but all too soon he grew still. Sighing I moved on the balls of my feet, raised the trapdoor in the corner, and carefully descended the ladder. I landed lightly in a hallway. There were two doors, but Rufio's light only shone behind one. With hardly a touch of my picks the tumblers clicked into place and I open the door silently.

Lucien hadn't been kidding when he'd called Rufio old and feeble. The old breton was so thin it was a wonder that he was still alive. I almost wanted to check for a pulse, and probably would have if it wasn't for the rattling breaths his unconscious body was laboring to produce.

Since I'd already taken care of the innkeeper, and there was nobody else in the Inn, I decided to have a little fun with him first. Not much, mind you, this was business after all, but I couldn't resist. I carefully climbed the bed frame, balancing on the posts, then jumped onto the mattress, sending the old man three feet up and scaring him more than half to death. The look on his face was priceless as his head spun around comically, then abruptly stopped when he spotted me. Granted I was laughing maniacally, but still, he couldn't even see my eyes, so I wasn't quite sure what he was so afraid of; to the world I looked more than harmless. Whatever the source of his terror, it caused him to bolt from the room, much faster than I believed possible on his weakened limbs. He had made it almost halfway up the exit ladder before I easily reached him and pulled him off it. It turned out his legs were as weak as I'd suspected, because when he landed, there was a resounding crack as his femur snapped and he plummeted quickly to the ground. I looked down at his moaning figure.

"Thank you, Rufio. That was most diverting! I’ve never chased one of my victims before." He whimpered at the word, and then asked the same clichéd question they always do.

"Why?" He could hardly get the word out.

"For once, I actually have an answer to that question. You see, Rufio, the Dark Brotherhood has come, I'm not technically in yet, but after I take your life I will be, you are my initiation you see."

"Oh, please no! I can pay you! Name your price! Anything please, I didn't mean to do it, you understand me? She struggled! I…… I told her to stay still but she wouldn't listen! I had no – –" Growing bored with his tirade, I violently cut off his words at his Adam's apple, and was very pleased with how easily my new blade accomplished its task, so pleased that I also stabbed it into his hardly beating heart, and shivered with pleasure as it finally stopped, and he fell to a crumpled heap at my feet.

Usually I like to take a seat and just relax for a while after kill, but this time was different, so I skipped that part of my routine. I kicked Rufio's corpse out of the way and climbed up the ladder. I'd left my things under my window, and as soon as I had retrieved them, I moved past the inn, mostly Southeast. When I was far enough away, I began clearing the patch of tall grass in front of me of any rocks or other various surprises. Finding nothing, I made myself as comfortable as possible and went to sleep under the light of the moons.

XXX

 

Volrina woke and strained to see in the dim light the high window provided. She was in a small, filthy, cell, and what little of herself she could see made her dry retch. She was covered in blood; the collective dried mess was more than a person could lose and still live. She tried desperately to remember, and as soon as she did, she wished she hadn't.

Alanna. It had been her, there the second she had begun to feel frightened of the guard. The expression on her friend's face reminded Volrina of that night, where she had again protected her. It was alive, and utterly terrifying. She had smiled as her dagger had moved with blinding speed into the guard’s neck, a smile so genuine that it made Volrina realize that the ones she had seen over the years and had thought were real, were only pale imitations. The last thing she remembered before the blinding pain and blackness was Alanna moving between guards with uncanny speed and masterful skill, clearly enjoying herself.

Then, Volrina did throw up.


	4. Hunter's Run

**Chapter Four - Hunter's Run:**

The next morning, I was disappointed to realize that I woke, not to an unnatural chill, but to suffocatingly hot and humid weather. I had known the possibility that the Speaker would consider the wilderness "secure" enough was minimum, so I tried to put my disappointment out of my mind. The first thing to do, I thought to myself as I moved into a copse of trees, is to get out of the sun. For a dunmer, I was really not good with heat. There was also a pungent smell and, looking down at myself, I quickly realized that I was covered with blood from the night before. I wasn't too concerned with it as I made my way back to the road; if anyone questioned me I could just claim bandit. What did concern me however, was the sudden burning pain in my stomach as I realized with irritation that I had done it again.

When I'm extremely focused on something, I can completely forget to do the little things, like eating. One time when my aunt was away, I had been so consumed with working on my knife skills that I didn't sleep for three days. The only reason I'd stopped was Volrina's mothering intervention. It had been nearly that long since the measly bit of bread I'd munched on back the Roxy Inn, so with new-found urgency I quickened my pace toward Bravil and the feast I was going to buy myself. Before I reached the gate, I ducked into a clump of bushes to remove my armor in favor of my scratchy white linen dress. I hated the thing, but it was the only other clothing I had, and when dealing with people, appearances are everything. Before I moved on I use the Blade of Woe's reflective surface to clean the blood off my face. With a sigh of boredom, I continued on towards the city.

Bravil reminded me of home, although there was no Guild protecting the peasants here. The poor of the city were left to fend for themselves, while their homes decayed around them and their count did nothing to stop it. Still grimacing from the pain in my stomach, I stopped at the closest Inn, Silverhome on the Water, rather than go all the way across the city to the Lonely Suitor Lodge, my favorite of the two Inns. Silverhome was nicer, sure, but it lacked a level of discretion that the other had in spades.

The altmer proprietor called out to me almost as soon as I closed the door behind me. "We have beds and food, what's your pleasure?" He asked cheerfully.

"I will require both, most immediately, food." He grinned at the prospect of a paying customer.

"Did you have anything specific in mind?" He asked with an indulgent smile. A short time later I was sitting at a table in the corner of the room, waiting for my food to be cooked to my rather exacting specifications. I was in a good mood; the minor annoyance of the heat had faded back to my usual cool apathy. Bouts of intense but fleeting rage were common with me, so common that I was used to it. My internal musing was interrupted by the returning altmer, whose name he cheerfully told me, was Gligonderon, with my eagerly awaited meal.

It was a thick venison steak, red and oozing juice. However clichéd it may be, I liked meat, and I liked it rare. After taking a bite, I was pleasantly surprised at how perfectly it was cooked.

"It's not as, pardon my pun, rare a request as you might believe. " Gligonderon, who had been lurking, most likely waiting for my approval and an accompanying tip, explained. "I hear from some of my breton customers that it's all the rage back in High Rock." When it was clear he wasn't going to leave without a tip, I handed him a few septims. People remember bad tippers; they also remember good ones. I keep mine strictly in the in between range. He smiled broadly at the coin, and then finally left me to my meal and the company of my thoughts. Just the way I preferred. I was glad there was no one else in the dining room at this hour, somewhere after breakfast but before the sun had risen high enough for lunch.

When I had devoured the steak and bread and my stomach had stopped complaining, I grabbed my empty plate and dropped it off at the counter. "Now, about a room." The owner was only too happy to hand me a key and directions. I winced slightly at the creak my feet made on the stairs but put it out of my mind as I found the room he had specified. I didn't stay long, just enough to drop my pack off, and I was back into the streets of Bravil, intent on supplying myself for my new vocation. Above all other things, this meant poisons. Before now I haven't seen much of a use for them personally, but I could think of several situations, enough that I felt I would be remiss if I had none.

Following a rumor, I made my way along the side of the canal, and through the rotting door the Mages Guild. I dodged the argonian at the front and curved along to a small room in the back of the building. The room smelled strongly enough to banish all traces of the canal from inside my nostrils; it wasn't unpleasant, but the mixture of a thousand ingredients was a bit intense. There was a dunmer behind the counter, so focused on whatever make sure he was working on that he had completely failed to notice me. If there was one thing I learned about mages from my dearly departed aunt, it was that they did not like being interrupted by anyone when they were working on whatever project that had currently captured their interests. Although I didn't care about his feelings, I wanted him to like me, at least enough to sell highly illegal weapons of death. I waited quietly in the doorway, intending to stay there until he either finished or noticed my presence.

Unfortunately, my plan fizzled out as I accidentally shifted my weight into the door frame with a loud bang. It was lucky, I thought as the alchemist turn to glare at me, that I was a dunmer as well. I noticed that most of my own race seemed to respond eagerly to any female with red eyes that they came across.

"What in Azura's name do you want?" He spat, but I could tell his tone was softer than he was used to.

"I heard you were the one to ask if I wanted the strongest alchemy south of the Imperial City."

"You just happened to have heard true; what can I get for you this afternoon?” His entire tone changed in an instant, becoming the accommodating and gracious. Ego appeal and flattery, a tactic that can never go wrong with a mage. I moved closer to the desk and laid my hands on the desk, leaning in closer so as not to be overheard.

"I need poison. Highly effective, as strong as you have." He stiffened almost imperceptibly at my request. "Also, a paralytic that doesn't have anesthetic effects, if you have it." The alchemist regained his composure quickly, and reaching under the counter, he brought out a large wooden box that gave off a muffled tinkly sound when it was jostled. He opened it dramatically and revealed a multitude of glass vials. He ran his hands across them, and with practiced ease found what he was looking for.

"This bottle has an extremely concentrated nightshade extract, with a dash of the most poisonous substance known to man or mer, jarrin root, imported from Stros M'kai, an island off the coast of Hammerfell.  A few drops of this in a wound or ingested, and someone won't be living long enough to say what it feels like. As an added bonus, it's completely untraceable." I nodded appreciatively, although I almost wanted to applaud his morbid performance.

"For your other request," he paused for a second, rummaging through the box. "May I recommend this. I call it Interrogator's Duress. This cunning mixture completely paralyses its taker, four hours per three drop dose. It also over-sensitizes the nerve endings to better augment information extraction and prohibits the taker from blacking out. Unfortunately, no one has been able to get the facial muscles to stiffen, but that usually suits the people that I sell this to just fine." Nearly drooling, I laid out all but a few of my remaining septims and had enough for a large bottle of both. I started to wrap them up in cloth, but the alchemist stopped me.

"The bottles are spelled, completely unbreakable, so no need to worry about that. Also, don't get the nightshade on your skin, or it will leave a nasty burn." I guess he really liked me, and my coin, I thought as I stored the bottles in my bag.

"One more thing, does the nightshade one have a name?" I asked.

"I call it Mephala's Gift." I smiled at that, even if I don't worship the Tribunal as is traditional for dunmer, I'd always thought Mephala seemed alright. As I turned to walk out the door, he called after me. "Thank you, please come again for all your alchemical needs!" I gave him a slight wave behind my back, like I'd seen the society ladies in the capital do to their suitors and headed out of the guild.

The sun was still shining brightly up in the sky, not that much past noon, so I decided to walk around the city, just to kill time before my next meeting with the speaker. For the next hour I played the tourist, going to all of the city's sorry excuses for attractions. Since there was a crowd around it, I even kissed the Lucky Old Lady statue near the entrance to the city, just to add to the role. I didn't feel luckier, but immediately after doing so a strange sensation came over me, like a soft call to my darkness. It was oddly pleasant and comforting, but as suddenly as it came it was gone. My spine settled and I walked on, putting it out of my mind. I didn't put stock in random feelings as a matter of principle.

Once I had done everything there was to do in Bravil, I went back to my room. I had only spent three minutes there before I was chased out again by the late afternoon heat that had turned the interior of the wooden walls into an inferno. I made my way out of the city and turned left as soon as I crossed the bridge. I leapt down a few rocks to the shore of the Locius River. As far as I could see, the beaches were packed with people trying to escape the heat. Well, that was out I thought to myself as I went back to the city. I wandered the filthy streets, without a single idea where to go. Every patch of shade was filled, so all that was left was covered in blinding rays of sun.          

Eventually I ended up near the Lucky Old Lady. With nothing else to do, I tried to kiss it again, hoping for a repeat performance of the strange feeling. There was nothing, and feeling slightly disappointed I started moving away, debating whether I could somehow use magic to cool my room without drawing attention. I was musing over the logistics when an irritating voice broke through.

“I'm sorry to impose upon you like this, but I'm in need of assistance, and I don't know what to do. my husband, Aleron, is missing.” A middle age breton woman stood before me, her face giving off waves of fear and worry. She was desperate. Interesting.

“What is going on?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound kindly and sweet.

“It all started when Aleron became foolish and started gambling. He'd visit the arena every week and spend our hard-earned money on bets. I told him to stop, but he didn't listen. He was certain he could win us a fortune and move us somewhere nicer, like the Imperial City. It didn't take long for Aleron to begin losing. He resorted to borrowing money from a usurer to cover his losses and place new bets. As you can imagine, it didn't pay off. He ended up owing around 500 gold. We could never have that kind of money to pay back the usurer.” I nodded sympathetically at the woman, who was so distraught she was hardly able to speak. “Yesterday, the usurer, Kurdan gro-Dragol, sent for my husband to meet him at the Lonely Suitor Lodge. He hasn't returned since. I fear for his life. Kurdan isn't known for his patience. Please, I'm not wealthy, but I'd give anything to see Aleron again.” I thought for a moment. It’s not like I had anything better to do, plus, putting someone in debt to you is always useful.

“Very well, I'll do what I can.” I told her with another disarming smile.

“You... you will? Oh, thank you! Please be careful, I don't wish any harm to befall you either. You're the first person who has actually stopped to listen. Thank you." I nodded again, and stiffened when she hugged me briefly, desperately resisting the urge to stab her with my new blade, before peeling her dirty form off me and heading in the direction of the Lonely Suitor. Once across the canal bridge I ducked into the door. Coming from the bright light outside, the sudden dimness blinded my slightly, but in a second my eyes adjusted and I scanned the area for the usurer. There were no orcs on the bottom floor, and unless one of the pathetic drunks at the counter had been adopted by some, Kurdan was not on the ground floor. No one noticed my entrance, so I made my way up the stairs.

On the second floor I saw him, armoured up the wazoo, and big, even for an orc. There was no way I would be able to move his paralyzed body to a more private place like I'd vaguely planned, so I began a new strategy. I walked up to him, hitting him full in the face with a wave of magic, meant to make him like me. I smiled sweetly again, though with his stench it was difficult.

"Are you Kurdan gro-Dragol?" I asked. 

"I am, and you are?" He was smiling too, and I refrained from rolling my eyes at his weak mind.

"I'm here on behalf of Aleron Loche." I continued smiling.

"Maybe I know him, maybe I don't. But since you're so interested, l know somethin' that could jar my memory.” He grunted and slurred his words, typical orc...

"And just what would that be?" I pressed, beginning to get irritated.

“I just learned that a family heirloom, the Axe of Dragol, which one of my stupid relatives lost, is located on Fort Grief Island in Niben Bay. My informant tells me it's hidden in the main keep at the center. Dunno what's guardn' it, but I'm sure you can handle it. If you go there and bring it back to me, I'll tell you exactly where Aleron is." I sighed, and considered pressing harder, but felt my hasty charm magic faltering.

"Fine then.”

“I'll have a boat waitin' for you to get to Fort Grief Island. It’ll be docked next to the magic shop. Now get outta my sight.” The last of my magic was gone, so, resigned to a treasure hunt that was more than likely a trap, I went back to my room, grabbing my equipment and changing back into my leather.

I arrived at the boat, piloted by a somber man who didn't speak, he just motioned to me to sit. I sat, and we moved through the filthy water in silence. Soon it cleared up some, as we got further away from the city's refuse and into the bay proper. A little bit later. he docked at an island and waved at me to get out. He grabbed a straw hat from under his seat, settled it over his face, apparently expecting a wait. I approached the fort's walls, in ruins, but still formidable enough to bar passage. There was a gate, but no keyhole. I pulled briefly on the metal, but it was obviously not going to be opened by force. I looked around, and my eyes traced a small handle, almost imperceptible from the surrounding stone. I turned it, and with a clank the gate opened. ‘Really Kurdon?’ I thought as a moved through it, counting to three in my head. As if on cue, the gate slammed shut behind me.

The center of the fort was covered in blood, and the patches of grass that managed to grow were hindered by fallen stones and fallen corpses. Some stank a little, but most were past that stage of decomposition. Nearer to the center, a middle aged breton was standing, looking utterly depressed, stripped of hope.

"Aleron I presume?" I asked as I came up to him. He nodded dejectedly. "I'm here to rescue you, your wife sent me." At the mention of her his face perked up slightly, but was quickly downtrodden again.

"You haven't guessed it yet? There never was any Axe of Dragol. It was just a ruse to lure you out here.” No shit. “I fell for the same trick. In my case, he told me if I retrieved the axe, he'd erase my debts. I was such an idiot to believe him.” No arguments there. “You're now the prey in Kurdan's insane hunt, just like I am. And here, we'll most likely die.” By the end of his speech he was almost crying.

“What hunt?” I was slightly curious now, maybe this would be some fun after all.

“Kurdan doesn't make most of his money being a simple usurer. He also invented what he calls the Hunter's Run. People pay him a great deal of money to hunt and kill living human prey. No questions asked, and he takes care of the bodies. He uses the dungeons under Fort Grief as the hunting grounds. I was placed here because he knew someone would go looking for me. I'm sorry you got mixed up in all of this. I hope you can fight. It's our only chance of escaping alive.” Now I was interested.

“If this is a game, how do I win?”

“The only way to get out is by descending into the Hunter's Run and killing the Hunters. One of them will have the key to the door. That's Kurdan's rules. It's the only way we can win. I wish l could help more, but I can't fight. I've never held a weapon before in my life. Please...get us out of here!” I drew my bow and walked through the interior door of the fort. “Kurdan is treacherous... be wary, friend.” He called behind my back.

As soon as I entered, there was a gate to the left. This one had a keyhole, but it was one of those annoying spelled locks; only the proper key would work, no matter the skill of the lockpicker, any picks would instantly break on insertion. Through the bars I saw a large handle, no doubt the gate control.

Shrugging, I moved deeper into the fort, the farther away I got from the door the darker it became, which suited me perfectly. At home in the shadows, I muttered almost silently, casting my life detection spell. Three person-shaped blobs. A few scattered smaller shapes, probably rats. With nothing surprising, I moved forward silently passing an arrow trap and ducking under. I dispatched a group of rats and took a few more turns before I found the first hunter.

He was leaning against a pillar, and his sword was still in its sheath. Deciding not to risk sneaking up in front of him, I notched an arrow, and sent it unceremoniously into his right eye. The force of the longbow at short range drove the arrow deep into his brain, and he slumped down. Death came almost instantly. A quick search revealed a key in his satchel, plus a few gold coins. I pocketed both and moved deeper.

The trail twisted down, the close walls opening up to a bridge over an eerily lit pool of water. I crossed, glad there was no one to sneak around in the light. More corridors, I jumped over a hole in the floor, careful to not make a sound on landing. The ancient stone might have carried the noise to oblivion knows where.

I didn’t even need to see the purple blob of the next hunter to know I was close, the mouth breathing cretin made such a racket I mentally tsked at him.

I peeked around the corner. He was facing the other way, focused on threats from deeper within the maze, his mistake. I silently slung the bow along my shoulders, and drew the Blade of Woe, glad of a chance to use it. I moved closer, every step exact. When close enough, I grabbed his mouth with my left hand and dragged the blade across his throat with the other. He fell, blood spurting out, and convulsed on the ground for a few brief moments, and then was still. The key was in his pants pocket, as was a rotten piece of sausage. I gingerly grabbed it, and wiped the sausage bits off on a relatively clean patch of his expensive shirt before continued on.

The next set of rooms had rats, as well as gas spewing traps. I easily stepped over the tripwires and passed by without harm. The rats died when I shot the wires behind me. I spent a moment watching with interest as they choked to death. So that’s what the gas did.

The last hunter was in a large, cavernous room, and he may have been the biggest idiot of them all. He wasn't even hugging the wall, instead preferring to stand in the middle like an oversized target dummy. I prepared to simply shoot him, but paused when I remembered the poisons I’d recently acquired. After a moment of deliberation between the two, I went with Mephala’s Gift. Careful to not waste any, I coated the tip of my next arrow from the vial. I secured it at my waist, then took a breath as I drew the arrow back. Because of the size of the chamber, it was a fairly long distance between my target and I, but it was a solid bow, and since there was no wind, I easily sent it into his calf muscle. His light faded fastest than I’d ever seen. I quickly moved closer, eager to see the result. He’d turned to face me, but that was as far as he got before crumpling to the ground. The alchemist wasn’t exaggerating, I noted with satisfaction; it was damn effective.

The last key was in a much cleaner pocket than the last, and I retrieved it without issue. The look on the corpse's face wasn’t even shock; it seems there hadn't been time for that. If anything, it showed mild confusion. I recast Detect life to be sure there wasn’t anything else to kill. Finding nothing, I made my way back to the locked gate.

I didn’t really expect any of the keys to work, it didn’t make sense for Kurdan to leave a way to escape, and sure enough everyone broke as I fit them into the lock. Without much else to do, I left the dungeon, intending to regroup with Aleron. I blinked in the daylight for a few moments, then sighed as I watched Kurdon slam through Aleron's thin body with a massive iron claymore, slicing him nearly in half. The breton gave half a cry before he fell, dead.

"That was very rude you know, he was my paycheck." I strode up to the orc, who was breathing heavily, both from exertion and the thrill of death.

"I'm impressed that you killed all my clients. Doesn't matter. More will come along with their purses fat with gold and hearts lustin' for blood. Too bad about Aleron. Didn't need him anymore now that yer here. At least now he's free of his debt... ha, ha, ha, ha," I didn’t laugh when he did, choosing to keep my face blank.

"I don’t suppose you'll let me go?" I asked nonchalantly, without expecting a positive answer. "I did beat your game after all." I let the broken key pieces fall to the grass.

"Fraid not. You were right about one thing though... This IS my game, and I'm changin' the rules!" He attacked then with a yell, but so slowly I avoided with a step to the side. I let him try that a few more times, laughing the whole time and moving out of range without effort. "Stand still or draw your blade!!!!!" he roared at me, chest heaving; it was obvious he didn’t use the sword often, and had no endurance built up. I sighed, bored, and gave an exaggerated yawn. Again, he attacked with a roar, and again I wasn't where he expected.

"As you wish." I said icily as I drew my dagger, letting the sound ring as metal scraped metal. Kurdan cleaved at me, and I rolled under his guard and stabbed him to the hilt in the belly button. He roared again, but this time from pain, and almost dropped his sword. "Come on, that the best you can do?" I called out mockingly. He started to attack again, but I rolled to the side, and sent my blade into the right kidney. He froze in place, as suddenly as paralysis magic. "It seems it is, shame." I stabbed the blade through his heart, and felt my dagger pulse with its beats, until it beat no longer.

I looked at the blade curiously as I withdrew it from its flesh sheath. There was no blood, as if it had absorbed it all. Every time I used it, it became more unique. I gave it a slight chuckle and fitted it into its true sheath. Searching his pockets, I found some gold and what I hoped was the real gate key. Luckily it was; I had not relished the idea of digging under the outer gate. The handle turned easily, and I was free.

My solemn gondolier had not remained, so I began to swim, and soon reached the other side of the bay about a mile from Bravil. The sun was low to the ground, but the heat still lingered, and soon I was glad of my wet hair as I walked along the shore. My armor was stiff for a few minutes, but the enchantment had already started to kick in, and by the time I reached the city both my hair and my clothes were dry. The wife was not in the area around the Lady statue any longer, so with an inquiry to a small bosmer in a green tunic standing around, I located her home. I knocked, and finding the door slightly ajar, entered.

Blood. I smelled it as soon as the door opened, the heat making it all the stronger. Blood, pooling around the wrists of the lady crumpled on the floor, a bloodstained parchment clutched in her hand, too much blood to read the words. I left without disturbing the scene, and went to find a guard. I'd been seen asking about her, and judged it better to appear to give full disclosure. He asked me politely to accompany him to the house, and promptly threw up as he witnessed the gore. As he regained his composure, he told me it was okay to leave, and I retreated back to the inn. Back in my room, hopefully for the last time that day, I changed once again into the silly white dress and folded up my armor carefully. I lay down on the bed, and although the sun had set, I knew sleep would not come, not for a few hours yet. There was a knock on my door, and Gligonderon announced himself.

"Come in." I said, sitting up. The door opened, and he entered, carrying a tray of food. Extremely confused, I just looked at him for longer than I probably should have. "But I didn’t order anything." I finally managed.

"Oh, poor dear, it's my treat, after what you saw today, I didn’t know if you could eat, so I also brought soup. it’s the least I can do." My brain got the last piece of the puzzle it needed to solve the problem. He had probably heard of me finding the body and assumed that I was traumatized. Slightly annoying, but it proved my acting skills were still on form, and got me a free meal. I almost chuckled, but caught myself and instead gave a sad smile, a very difficult expression to get right, and thanked the mer. He left, and I looked at the tray. It was another steak, and seeing no reason to wait, I tucked in. The soup was watery and bland, but as before, the meat was cooked perfectly. He'd also placed a very large goblet of wine on the tray, but I set that aside with the soup. I was not a fan of the intoxicating effects, let alone the taste. I placed the whole tray on the dresser, and lay back down. Shockingly, sleep came ahead of schedule, and I drifted into unconsciousness.

XXX

 

"So, you're awake? For a human girl you're pretty, very pretty indeed." Volrina heard a nasally voice when she started moving again. She looked across the bars and was just barely able to make out a dirty shape in the cell opposing hers. "That friend of yours is vicious huh?" She shuddered at his words. "She tried to get you out you know, but her pick broke, and she left you here all alone. Lucky for her she'll never have to see the hurt expression on your face." He sneered at her; Volrina did not like him at all.

"What do you mean?" Her words were so soft they were almost inaudible.

"I mean you're going to die down here, no doubt about it." He laughed at her then, a cold and humorless sound that chilled her more than the dankness of the cell. She pulled the dingy blanket around her tighter, and tried to ignore the elf, who continued mocking her as she curled up on her bed of hay.

Suddenly his tirade stopped, cut off by a clatter approaching from down the corridor. A harsh female voice was booming orders, and a softer, deeper one was backing them up. The conversation died off as they reached the front of Volrina's cell.

"What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits." The female voice belonged to a powerful looking woman, dressed in heavy armor and a no nonsense bearing. Two men in almost identical armor were beside her.

The usual mix up with the watch I assume." A redguard said, confirming himself as the owner of the deeper voice. They opened the cell door and filed in.

"Alright prisoner, stay back, over there by the window, and don’t make trouble." An imperial with a voice that hadn’t spoken before demanded, and Volrina scurried backward as they moved into the cell, followed by an old man in an elaborate, dark purple robe. Volrina had never seen its like. He looked tired to the bone, and beyond sad, as if he had no happiness left. Something about him made Volrina want to help, to make him feel better. He looked at her, and it seemed as if he looked straight down to her core.

"You ... I've seen you ... Let me see your face... You are the one from my dreams... Then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength." He spoke slowly, with a pregnant pause every few words. He breathed deeply, motioning her to approach.

"Who are you?" Volrina asked him.

" I am your emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the Gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler. You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you, too, shall serve her in your own way." Volrina was aghast; the emperor in her prison cell?

"Assassins attacked my sons, and I am next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell." While they were talking, the woman was fiddling with the wall to the right, near where the stone slab that functioned as a bed was. With the growling sound of stone rubbing against stone, it started lowering into the floor, and the wall behind it opened to reveal a passage.

"We'd better leave this open, there's no way to open it from the other side." The woman said.

"Looks like it's your lucky day prisoner, just stay out of our way. I won't hesitate to kill you if you threaten the emperor in any way." The party moved through the passage, and after a few moments of hesitation, Volrina followed.


	5. Welcome to the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alanna finds her place. Volrina faces some stuffs down in the sewers

**Chapter Five - Welcome to the Family:**

I smiled when I woke; the chill was back. I got up, and took one of the chairs at the small table. When the door opened, I inclined my head graciously to the empty door frame. Speaker Lachance materialized and gave a polite bow. I gestured to the chair, and he sat down.

"The innkeeper brought me some wine earlier, you can have it if you wish, I have no use for it."

"That is most gracious, but neither do I." He settled back in his chair. "So, the deed is done. How do I know this? You will find that the Dark Brotherhood knows a great many things. For you are now part of the family. The slaying of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. Rufio's blood, the ink. Although, out of professional curiosity, I would like to ask why you also eliminated the innkeeper?"

"Witness. I was being through." Lucien nodded, smiled, and continued.

"As a Speaker of the Black Hand, I directly oversee a particular group of family members. You will join that group, and fulfill any contracts given. You must now go to the city of Cheydinhal, to the abandoned house near the eastern wall. Enter the basement, and attempt to open the black door. You will be asked a question. Answer thusly: "Sanguine, my Brother." You will gain entrance to the Sanctuary. We must now take our leave of each other, you and I, for there is much work to be done. I'll be following... your progress. Welcome to the family."

"Have a nice night, or is it morning?" He bowed again without saying anything else, and left, this time closing the door behind him after going invisible. My eyes were still heavy from sleep, and so, without much difficulty I was able to slip past the border between reality and dreams.

I was jarred back into consciousness by a powerful but considerate knock on my door. "Miss? I'm Private Stevenson." I froze, getting ready to bolt, when he continued. "I've been instructed to ask you to accompany me to the castle steward, a matter of a last will and testament for one Ursanne Loche." I relaxed when I recognized the last name of the man I was supposed to have saved, and straightened my clothes.

"Yes, one moment please." I smiled at him as I opened the door. He nodded professionally, and I closed the door once more, hiding my dagger in the folds of my dress and putting on my boots. I exited, and he gallantly offered his arm. I mentally mocked him, but played the part, taking his arm with my left and trying not to squirm at his closeness. We walked down the stairs and through the city, eventually coming through the gate into the castle gardens. If the rest of the city was squalor, the luxurious interior was not. Even the scent of the canal was masked by the blossoming flowers. The guards stationed at the entrance opened the heavy doors, and the castle steward met us just inside. Stevenson dropped my arm, gave me a curt military head bow, and left with a perfect about face. I resisted the urge to snicker and turned to face the kajiit.

"If you'll follow to my office please." She said formally. When we reached it, she sat down behind her desk with a sigh, obviously overworked. With the count being the way rumors said he was, I was surprised she had time for me at all. I sat down in the chair opposite and gave her a few polite moments, although I was beginning to get bored and impatient. Soon, she straightened up, and spoke with the common growling kajiit tone.

"Now, I've brought you here today in circumstances that are, unusual to say the least. I'm aware of one version of events, but I would like you to give your account of your affiliation with the Loche family." She settled further into her chair, as if expecting this to be a long tale.

"I was wandering around the statue of the Lucky Old Lady, and Mrs. Loche came up to me, asking for assistance in finding her husband, Aleron. I accepted, followed her lead on the man Aleron was in debt to, Kurdan gro-Dragol. He said that if I went to an old fort ruin to retrieve an axe his family had lost, he would return Aleron." I told her the rest of the story, trying to brush over my fighting competency. She nodded at times, asked questions at others. After I gave my recount of the tale, she nodded once more.

"So, you have no idea what happened to Mrs. Loche?"

"Well, her wrists were slashed, and done well enough that if it wasn’t suicide the person has experience in those matters." I said.

"And you have experience in these matters?" She asked shrewdly, obviously a cut above the average intelligence most people possessed.

"I grew up in the Waterfront of the Imperial City, mam, that sort of thing happens a lot..." I said, dropping my tone to world-weary. She seemed to accept this after a moment's consideration.

"Alright then, your story matches up with what her suicide note said, and the handwriting matched. It appears the will is genuine, very well." She stood then, heaving herself off the chair, then grabbed a piece of paper and a key from the top of her desk and handed them over to me. I looked at her confused. "According to her note, you are the sole beneficiary of all of Ursanne's property, which includes her home and everything in it."

"She doesn't have anyone else?" I asked with false modesty and genuine confusion.

"She specified you, as 'the only person to care enough to help', in her words." I stifled a laugh at that, but tilted my head seriously. "This however is on condition of an investigation of the site of Fort Grief. If there are any serious deviations from your story, we will meet again. Now, if you can spell your name for me right here you'll be free to go." I signed her paper quickly, and hurried away before she could change her mind and call the guards. I stopped in my room to change and grab my belongings, and was soon sneaking around the back of the stables outside the city, intent on stealing a horse, deciding to explore my newly acquired hovel at a later time.

The trick to horse thievery, was to distract the owner, since horsemasters tended watch over their merchandise quite thoroughly. This one was no different, and I contemplated what to do about the annoying blubber sack sitting in a chair with a clear view of the paddock. I focused, and with a great deal of effort that left me heaving, I manifested the image of a large cow, dressed in a pink noble's dress, and had it walk towards the city gates with loud moo's. As predicted, the blubber sack was so focused on the spectacle that I was able to hop on a tan mare and ride undetected down the road. The illusion had taken a lot out of me, and as I guided the beast to Cheydinhal I leaned forward, trying to rest a bit and stop my heaving breaths.

After that the rest of the journey was easy. I rode the mare hard, spurring her when she faltered. As a result, it was a few hours after midday when I crested the last hill on the Blue Road and the walls of Cheydinhal came into view. I dismounted from the frothing mare, and with a slight prick of my dagger she sprinted off in the direction of home. The guards at the gate let me in without issue, and I followed the dirt road through the picturesque city.

I had always liked Cheydinhal, its clean river, the almost storybook houses, and the beggars hidden from view. My feet thudded softly over the rustic footbridge, and I passed by a drunken dunmer singing off tune about cliffracers before finally approaching the clearly abandoned house. No one was looking, in fact, people seemed to outright avert their gazes from the structure. I casually strolled to the front door, that at first seemed covered by planks, but looking closer I realized that the planks had slits cut to allow passage. I stepped inside the dimly lit interior.

There were stairs leading up to a second, and perhaps third floor, judging by the height, and while I was tempted to explore, I was more eager to reach this sanctuary. With little effort, I located the basement steps, and descended.

The room was bare, and nothing stood out, except for a large hole in the stone wall, leading to a passage that glowed with red light as I got closer to the black door that Lucien had obviously referred to. It was heavy stone, ancient, but it looked strong enough to repel armies. A beautiful mural was embossed on it, a woman holding a knife to five tiny skeletons, one held in her arms as if it were a child. In the clouds above her a giant skull was carved, looking over the proceedings, with a handprint in the middle of the forehead. I was still admiring it, when a voice sounded, as if from the skull.

"What, is the color, of night?" It was raspy and deep, yet somehow comforting and gentle.

"Sanguine, my brother." I spoke the password tentatively, hoping there wasn't some other ritual that the speaker had failed to mention. The door swung open at my words, and revealed a large, cheerily lit chamber, covered in banners with the same handprint symbol as the skull’s.

“Welcome. Home,” the door seemed to be the source of the voice, and indeed I felt truly welcomed by its words. I walked in curiously, and was approached by an argonian in a set of black leather armor.

"Greetings! Greetings! I am Ocheeva, mistress of this Sanctuary. Lucien has told me all about you, Alanna. Let me welcome you to the Dark Brotherhood!" She was warm and enthusiastic, and I didn't know quite what to say in response. "You stand in our sanctuary. May it serve as your new home, a place of comfort and security whenever the need arises. When you're ready for work, go and speak with Vicente Valtieri. He handles all assignments for the new family members. But before you go, please accept this gift from your new family. A unique set of armor, lighter than normal leather and black as the Void." She handed me the sack she had been carrying; I smiled at her, and it was genuine.

"Thank you. Where would he be?"

"Go straight across the main chamber, then follow the stairs down. Wait, I'll just get someone to show you around. Antoinetta!" She called out, her reptilian voice bouncing off the stone surrounding us. She looked around as if waiting for someone. It wasn't long before footsteps were heard approaching quickly from the right. A bright looking breton girl a little older than me skipped up to us, her short blond hair flouncing like a noble's poufy dress.

"Yes Ocheeva?" Her eyes widened when she saw me. "Oh, it's her! She's younger than I thought she'd be! Hi, my name is Antoinetta Marie, I'm sure we'll be the best of friends."

"Antoinetta, I'd like you to show her around, make sure Gogron doesn't crush her."

"Yes Ocheeva, of course." The lizard retreated from view, and Antoinetta grabbed my wrist and started pulling me off to the side. I allowed it, and moved off with her. On the left side of the chamber there was a heavy double door, with wood a foot thick and reinforced with metal. It creaked as she opened it, and as soon as she did, the sound of metal clanging forcefully against metal rang through the air. A huge orc, even bigger than Kurdan, was pummeling a straw dummy held together by a chest plate with a wicked looking axe. He didn't look up from the thrashing, not until Antoinetta yelled at him.

"Gorgon! The new sister is here! Stop beating up the straw for a minute and say hello!" The brute stopped and turned, and immediately his face grew into a wide grin.

"Welcome! Welcome to the family! I'd hug you, but Ocheeva told me not to, I'm not always in control of my strength you see." If said by someone else, that might have been taken as a threat, and he spoke the words with that same practiced ease, but somehow, I knew he was being completely earnest.

"It's true, Telaendril told me that he had this pet bunny as a kid, but smashed its head in on accident!" Antoinetta gave a chortle, and the big orc looked stricken for a few moments, before laughing himself. It was a big, booming sound, one that reverberated against our surroundings, and I found myself chuckling along with them. It seems they shared my sense of humor at the very least.

"Oh good, you're fun! I was worried you might be another grumpy one when I heard how young you were when you first killed." That comment put me instantly on the defensive.

"How do you people know so much about me?" I spoke calmly, but with the intensity I had learned scared people half to death. The girl laughed even louder at my words, confusing me completely.

"Oh hun, you never have met anyone like you before have you? Intimation doesn’t work on us, silly. To answer your question, the Dark Brotherhood knows basically everything, the higher ups have both mystical and mortal sources, so no information is safe. Don’t worry, we won't turn you over to the guards." I kept my face strictly neutral, though these people fascinated me.

"Wait, how old was she? Come on, you people never tell me anything!" Gogron boomed at me, and on a whim, I told the truth.

"Killed at ten, murdered at thirteen." I let my voice reveal nothing. The orc whistled, and Antoinetta looked startled.

"Really? They didn’t say exactly how young. What made you do it?" She was entranced, clearly waiting for a story.

"First time I was protecting myself and a friend. The times after that? I wanted to." They weren’t repulsed, in fact they were smiling.

"That'll do for now." Antoinetta took my arm again and said playfully. "We have more people to meet, and things to see, but I expect the full story later. Bye Gogron, see you at dinner!" She pulled me along, this time across to the right side of where I had come in. There was an identical door, but instead of going through it, the girl turned left, and stopped in front of a cozy reading area where another argonian was settled in, reading a book. He looked up and gave a smile; it was obvious he was related to Ocheeva.

"Teinaava, this is Alanna, the new girl. Alanna, Teinaava. " He nodded to me warmly.

"I welcome you to our family, and this Sanctuary. May you find yourself at home here, in the loving embrace of our Lady the Night Mother."

"Who is the Night Mother?" I asked, endlessly curious.

"That is a slightly lengthy tale, but I would be happy to teach you. In short, she is our matron, and guides the Brotherhood in everything we do. She is the voice of Sithis, but that is also a lengthy discussion. Antoinetta here is not known for her patience, especially with sitting through lectures she already knows the content for. Come back to me later, dear Sister, and I will teach you." He seemed at once to be trying to be my friend, and my professor.

"Come on, this lizard is a real bore! There are other things to do!" the blonde resumed pulling me forward like a dog on a leash, and although I was bristling, I allowed her to continue. We went through the door, and followed a winding staircase down. It opened into a smaller chamber than the main one, though it was still large enough to accommodate a cozy looking kitchen and a dining table with enough places to fit ten people. Like the rest of the sanctuary, torches and candles lit it, just enough to clearly see everything, but dim enough that it felt comforting.

"Hey, Antoinetta, why doesn’t it smell like smoke? I don’t see any ventilation, yet the air is as clear as outside."

"Huh, I never noticed, Vicente will probably be the best person to ask. I've been here for a year, and the only time it's been smoky is when someone burns dinner." She laughed again, a highly melodic sound that echoed off the stone around us. "Actually, that's usually me. Can you cook at all?"

"Uh, no. My idea of an adventurous culinary endeavor is putting cheese on top of bread." Her laugher grew, and it was several moments before she regained the power of speech.

"You're funny, I like it." Then she hugged me, or tried to anyway.

I had been hugged before, Volrina had made sure of that, but it had been several years and a large amount of combat experience since the last time she had. Without thinking, I flipped the girl backwards, drawing my blade to her neck.

"Oh, uh, sorry." I stammered when I could think again. I quickly sheathed the blade and pulled her back to her feet.

"That was excessive!" She tried to maintain a stern tone, but it kept fracturing at the edges and laughter seeped out. "You could have just told me not to."

"Yeah, reflex I think." I was pleased that I hadn’t killed her accidentally, which was uncommon enough that it turned me contemplative. I actually liked this girl. Huh.

"Some reflex! I'd love to see what you do to someone you don’t like!" She spoke as if reading my mind. It was very disconcerting, yet oddly pleasant, like this whole day. “Anyway, the sleeping quarters are through here." She led us through another door. It opened onto a symmetrical hallway with a door on each side.

"The right is us, left the boys'. And be thankful they're separate, you do not want to try and sleep while Gogron is snoring. He sounds like a troll that’s on fire. We had to get M'raaj-Dar to magically soundproof it anyway." The way she spoke claimed personal authority on the matter. We went into our side, which had only two beds inside, and they both were obviously occupied.

"We'll usually have this place to ourselves, the only other sister who stays here is Telaendril, and she scouts for Ocheeva most of the time she isn’t on assignment. I'm sure your bed will be here by the end of the day, Lucien does a good job of taking care of those things.

"So, what do you know about tall, dark, and melodramatic?" I asked her. Her jovial face fell serious in an instant before she responded.

"I will always think of Lucien as my savior. When he found me, I was living in a gutter, an inch away from death. I owe him everything." It was clear she meant every word, but after only a few seconds she shook her head vigorously and her face grew cheerful once more. "Anyway, he is our sanctuary's Speaker. Basically, he acts like the middleman between us and the rest of the Black Hand."

"The Black Hand?"

"Oh, they're the hush hush leaders. I don’t know much about them really, none of us underlings do, which makes sense you know?" I nodded, a basic security move. If new, untested recruits were captured, they couldn’t tell what they didn’t know, no matter what they were subjected to.

"You can just drop your stuff here, don’t worry about anyone taking it; it's against one of our five big rules, and no bauble is worth crossing Sithis." There was that name again; I found myself looking forward to my lesson with Teinaava even more than I had been before. I set my pack down against the wall and piled my new armor on top of it.

"You're neat, crap." She gestured to a bed in the corner, which made an apt example of the antithesis of the word. "It bugs Telaendril too, she's always nagging me to clean up." She walked over to her corner and pointed to a box surrounding the bed that was scratched into the stone floor.

"If I let my shit escape these lines it's the same as forfeiting it, so you're free to take it or burn it, your choice." She grinned at me, and I wasn’t entirely sure if she was serious. "Anyway, this room is boring, we still have more to see."

We went back the way we came, and ended up at the far side of the large main chamber I'd first entered. It opened to another hallway, but this one was much larger than any of the others. We passed two doors completely, with Antoinetta explaining that they were Ocheeva's private room, and a guest room for visiting brotherhood higher ups, most often used by Lucien. We followed a ninety-degree angled set of stairs down and were confronted by a squinting kajiit leaning against the wall, his fur was raised, and he emitted malice from his entire frame.

"If it isn't the newest member of the family. Let's get one thing straight -- the Tenets prevent me from killing you. But I don't have to like you. I'll sell you equipment, and evaluate your no doubt pitiful magical ability, but only because Ocheeva is making me. This family doesn't need any... outsiders." His tone was harsh and unwelcoming, much more what I would have expected from an assassin than the rest of the family so far. Unlike the camaraderie of the others. I knew how to deal with hostility: affect a manner of complete self-confidence and ease, peppering in strategic witty comments, until the other person explodes and gives you an acceptable reason to destroy them.

"Oh, quit it M'raaj! Alanna is family now, whether you like it or not." Antoinetta cut through our glaring match and poked the cat in the chest. I half expected him to attack right then, but to my surprise he deflated, turned around, and sulked up the stairs, grumbling to himself until he was out of earshot.

"I apologize for him." A warm, well-heeled voice made me turn around to face its owner, who was walking to us from further down the hallway. The man moved with more grace than I had ever seen, every minuet movement exactingly placed, as if his whole being was attuned to the task of walking. As he got closer, my unasked question was answered. The man was a vampire, but he made all the ones I'd fought before look like indolent upstarts. He was ancient, although I wasn’t sure how I knew that. He reached us and continued his greeting.

"M'raaj-Dar has a very soft heart you see, and cares for his family deeply, although he would be damned before voluntarily letting anyone see it. I am Vicente Valtieri. I provide assignments for all new family members. Please do not let my appearance unnerve you. The needs and Tenets of the Dark Brotherhood come before my own needs as a vampire." He bowed his head to me courteously, and smiled.

"I'm Alanna, though you probably already know that." He smiled again, to a somewhat grandfatherly effect.

"I do indeed, but no matter, come. I'm sure you have many questions. Antoinetta, you're free. Our new sister appears to be the intellectual type, I'm afraid you would be terrible bored by her no doubt plentiful questions." His words would have seemed harsh if they were directed at anyone else, but the blond girl just smiled, waved, and told me dinner would be ready in a few hours before heading off. Vicente motioned down the hallway, and started off. We arrived in another room. Unlike the rest of the sanctuary, it was more cavern than room, with hard packed dirt floors and rough-cut rock walls, as if the builders had run out of time to finish. To one side there were overstuffed bookshelves, with more books than I had ever seen in my life. There was also a desk made of sturdy wood, with a finish so dark it was almost black. More books rested on its surface, as well as on the table he directed me to. He didn't speak for several seconds, and I let my curiosity get the best of me.

"What are the Tenets?" I asked.

"The Five Tenets are the laws that guide and protect us, the will of Sithis himself, as passed on through the Night Mother. They are as follows: Tenet 1: Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Tenet 2: Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Tenet 3: Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Tenet 4: Never steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Tenet 5: Never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis." He spoke the words exactingly, with the reverence of scripture, I listened patiently and committed them to memory; I could tell it was not a recitation that should be pettily interrupted. When he was finished, I asked my next question.

"Who, or maybe what, is Sithis?"

"Every Dark Brother and Sister is a child of Sithis. He whom we call Sithis has many other names. Chaos. Doom. Discord. Sithis is the Void. We of the Dark Brotherhood serve the Night Mother, who is the bride of Sithis. The Night Mother rules her children with a terrible Black Hand." More religious reverence. "And before you ask." He continued, breaking to a less formal tone. "The Black Hand is the ruling body of the Dark Brotherhood. It is made up of one Listener and Four Speakers. Four fingers and a thumb, if you will."

"Forgive me if this sounds incredibly rude, but does Sithis expect anything special of me?" He smiled again at my question, warmly and unsanctimoniously.

"Fear not, beyond following the Tenets, he requires only one thing, and it's something you enjoy. Killing. Simply murder and nothing more." Well, I thought to myself, finally a deity I could get behind. "Never be afraid to ask a question dear, I will answer all in my power. If there is something I cannot tell you, I will say so, and give you an explanation if I can, but I will never lie."

I had never experienced anything like this, never been confronted by such complete openness. I didn’t know how to answer him, so I sat quietly instead of bumbling for words.

"You're not used to any of this, are you? You’ve never been accepted or valued for who you truly are." I nodded at him, grateful he understood what I wasn’t able to convey. "Unfortunately, this is far more common than not. The majority of the world simply cannot understand, and thus brothers and sisters are fated to solitude and alienation until they find their way to where they belong."

That was it, the words for what I was feeling. I belonged here. I belonged as completely as if it were made for me. For as long as I could remember, I'd been alone. Even Volrina hadn’t truly known me. It had never bothered me before, but I was beginning to think that was because I hadn’t known how this felt. Wow, who knew emotions could be this nice?

"You are most likely feeling overwhelmed by this, so take the day. Get to know your family, or go for a walk by yourself. If you do leave, take care not to miss dinner. If I know Antoinetta she is currently putting her all into a welcome feast for you, and she would be crushed if you missed it." I stood up slowly, and headed out the door. Before I left I turned back to him.

"Thank you." It was the first time I had meant those words completely, and not as a required social gesture. I decided to take his advice, and left the sanctuary and the city entirely.

XXX

 

Volrina followed the tense party down deeper into a set of ancient Aylied ruins, lit with their ethereal, sourceless blue light, abandoned long ago to all but the rats. They didn't get far before figures emerged from the shadows, screaming battle cries and casting armour conjuring spells. She felt their magic on her skin, dark and malevolent, nothing like the magic she'd encountered before; it gave her goosebumps. There were three of them, and each of the Emperor's guards faced them head on, brandishing swords.

"Stay behind me Sire!" The harsh female cried as she pressed forward. Volrina felt pathetic; she wanted to help them, but they were fighting in such close quarters with the assassins that she couldn't be sure she would hit the right targets if she tried a spell. She watched the battle for several seconds, before realizing what she had to do. Reaching out mentally, she squeamishly explored the magic, felt it struggle to stay in this world. She concentrated fiercely on the dispelling invocation, and there was a sudden vacuum of power left behind as their armour retreated back to whatever plane of oblivion it had come from.

With the rival magic gone, the attackers started to fall like flies caught in a trap. The woman collapsed with the last one, blood flowing out of a wound to her neck. Volrina frantically started a healing spell, but knew it was too late; death was already set into the captain's body, rejecting the magic.

"Captain Renault?" The emperor's voice was shaky.

“She’s dead. I'm sorry, Sire, but we have to keep moving." The redguard Blade responded sorrowfully, thrust into command by default. The emperor complied, sinking even farther into himself as he followed his two reaming blades further into the old ruin. Volrina set her hand on his shoulder as they walked, hoping it helped.

It wasn’t long before the group reached a rusted metal gate. The imperial Blade brought a key out. He hadn’t had the chance to open it when the other one moved in front of Volrina and stood firmly.

"You stay here prisoner, don’t try to follow us." His voice was gentle, but left no doubt that he would protect his lord, no matter the cost. She was far too terrified to defy, and the gate slammed shut, locked, behind the retreating party, minus one member.

Alone, the panic that had been set near the edges of the campfire was suddenly thrust into the flames, pasta threatening to boil over. She paced the edge of the chamber, trying to figure out something to do. Should she go back to her cell and the abuse of her fellow prisoner? The thought made her shudder, and she was about to sit down on the ground, when the wall to her side suddenly exploded, and a pair of the meanest looking rats Volrina had ever seen burst through the weakened stone.

Reacting, not thinking, she felt power brimming up in her fingers as she readied the spell, reaching for full power. The air around her exploded into heat, and the monstrous vermin caught fire, fur and flesh and bone melted in seconds, leaving a charred, roasted meat smell behind. It should have made Volrina want to gag, and on some levels it did, but it mostly just made her mouth water; it had been a long time since she'd eaten. With great effort, she left their corpses alone and investigated the hole they had come through.

A dirt tunnel was just through the hole, rough and unrefined, but not small. There was plenty of room to move, and after a little break to catch her breath, Volrina followed it. The passage wound through a few curves, then opened up into a larger chamber, still with dirt floors, but the walls were a rough stone. Pillars had sprouted up like underground trees, supporting the weight of the ceiling and all that rested on it. Along the left side of the wall, a skeleton was spread out, covered only by rotting leather. The rest of the flesh had rotted away, leaving only pale, parchment coloured bone behind.  She moved forward quickly, desperate not to look at the long-decayed man.

The passage turned another corner, and Volrina nearly bumped into a goblin. Ugly as a festering wen, the clammy grey skin of the creature was covered with pitting and raised scar tissue. One thin, filthy piece of cloth was tied around its waist, his club the only other adornment it bore. It blinked its aquatic eyes at her several times, his brain not quite comprehending that there was a human in its lair. It brought the wooden club up, using the base to scratch his head, which seemed to tempt the needed synapses into firing. It gave a titanic roar, causing little bits of rotting mystery food to fly in her direction as they dislodged from its gnashing teeth.

Faster than the last time, Volrina had the spell ready and sent a fireball hurtling through the cave. It bounced off the hardened skin and dissipated, leaving an angry black scorch mark, and an even angrier goblin. It roared again, flailing its club around erratically. It seems that the fireball had done more damage than Volrina had initially thought, blinding its eyes, eyes so used to perpetual darkness. She used the chance, switching spells before the beast could recover. She paused momentarily, watching for her moment, before sending a shaft of pure ice through the gaping mouth as it opened for another war cry. The sound was cut short as the spike penetrated the creature's brain. It slumped like a boar's bladder come untied, all the air deflated. The wooden club hit the dirt with a muted thud, and Volrina collapsed with it, dry heaving the imaginary contents of her stomach.

The rats were one thing, but the goblin was almost a person, even if its limbs were warped and mutated. It made her feel horrible, and no amount of survivalist justification could stop the guilt. When her breathing, and her stomach, had settled enough, she got up off the ground and walked on. The walk turned to a jog, and then a run as she fled from what she had done.


	6. Chapter Six: A Watery Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has actually been done for awhile now, but here we go.

**Chapter Six - A Watery Grave:**

Antoinetta's welcome feast turned out to be just as heartfelt and extravagant as I'd expected. The table in the living quarters room was piled so high that there was hardly room for everyone. After coming back from my lengthy walk, I was immediately accosted and dragged into the heaving throng of camaraderie and food. Gogron was already stuffing his face, and M'raaj was nowhere to be seen, but the rest of the members were waiting patiently for me when I entered the room. The huge orc swept aside a few heaping plates near the head of the table and I was violently thrust into place by Antoinetta.

"Well? What are you waiting for, eat up!" The orc spoke through a mouth full of food, muddling his words slightly and sending a spray of crumbs back onto his plate. "You're not vegan, are you?" This brought rounds of laughter to all present, and it even made me smile, a rare thing when murder wasn’t involved.

The group got louder as the night wore on, mostly due to Gogron and the truly impressive quantities of ale he consumed. Though he was the only one drinking, his laughter and boisterous good humor proved infectious, and before long many of the assassins were singing. Needless to say, I was thoroughly uncomfortable, unsure of how to behave. I'd never been to a party before, and the nuances of the event were too varied and convulsing to imitate without more study. Instead, I slowly nibbled on some fruit, doing my best to keep something in my mouth at all times. Thankfully, I was not called upon to do much, as if there was some unspoken arrangement to leave me out of the spotlight of my own party.

As it got late, Gogron plummeted onto the table, sending the remaining dishes to the ground, shattering ceramic, and clanging metal. Unable to move the inebriated orc, the party died down, and we retired to our respective bedrooms. To my delight, a third bed had indeed arrived, and it was nice, much nicer than any I had seen outside of the noble's estates of the Imperial City. It even had a real mattress, which I promptly sank into and fell asleep.

Vicente was waiting for me at the table the next morning, sipping from a dented pewter goblet and reading a book as if he had all the time in the world.

I approached with trepidation, as he looked up and smiled, fangs extended. Last night, his face had been pale and gaunt, looking far closer to death than life. This morning however, there were hints of colour on cheeks that were fuller than they had been before.

“How are you this morning, dear sister?” I found no hint of deception in his red eyes, so I sat down across the table.

“Fine, thanks.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. The accommodations meet your standards I trust?”

“Yeah, they're fine. Great, actually. I don’t think I've ever slept so comfortably.” I chose a light, airy tone for my words.

“Very good. Since you're well rested, I have a contract for you, if you choose to accept it.”

“A contract, is that a target?” My heartbeat quickened at the prospect of a kill, and I was sure he could hear it.

“A contract is a pact one enters into with the Dark Brotherhood. They provide us with the gold, and we remove someone from existence. A contract is fulfilled by a skilled assassin such as yourself, who keeps the Dark Brotherhood's end of the bargain. So it has always been. While carrying out a contract, you may have the opportunity to earn a bonus if certain parameters are met. Some contracts are straightforward. Find the target, eliminate them, then return to the Sanctuary. No time limits or complications. However, many of our clients request that their contracts be carried out in a specific manner. A certain place, a certain method of elimination. We try to honor these requests whenever possible. After all, the Dark Brotherhood's reputation has been built on providing... good service. Any Brother or Sister who can complete a contract while fulfilling a specific request will receive a valuable bonus, oftentimes a powerful magic item.”

“I’m ready.” He let out a good-natured chuckle, and I'm sure it was directed at the breathless quality of my voice that, despite all practice to the contrary, slipped out.

“Well, aren’t we eager?”

xxx

 

It was dark when I approached the waterfront, rising from the water like a shadow in the pale moonlight. The lake splashed against the ship, throwing off waves of sound, masking the noise of falling droplets. The Marie Elena was past its prime, with rotting wood incrusted with barnacles at and below the water line. It hadn't been out of the harbor since I could remember. Though weathered, the ropes hanging over the side proved strong enough, and I pulled myself up to the balcony, careful not to make a sound. With any luck, it led to the captain's quarters. Even if it didn't, it was still the best point of entry, with the ship itself blocking me from the view of errant passersby, or patrolling city watch.

I tested the boards of the platform before crossing the gap, cautious of creaks. Nothing but shadows could be seen through the filth covered glass, and when none moved for several minutes, I concluded it was safe enough to try the lock.

It was a doozy, especially considering the vessel was meant for the open water. It had five tumblers, and took several moments and a fair amount of silent cursing to finally click into place. With the door open the slightest crack, I listened. Nothing for a moment, and then the faintest rumble. It took a few seconds to recognize it; snoring. Nothing else sounded, so I opened the door and slipped through.

Fortuitously, it was indeed the captain's cabin, decorated in faded opulence and coated with grime. A man was sleeping in a bed shoved against a wall, his arms clutched around an unmarked liquor bottle like a child's teddy bear. My armour didn't make a sound as I crossed the room, stepping over empty bottles. Even with the thorough soaking it had just received, the leather moved like nothing I'd ever seen before. It was already dry, as if it resisted all liquids.

Closer to my target, the snoring was much louder, and his smell appalling. Glad of the cowl, I did my best to breathe through my mouth as I drew my dagger. His torn doublet offered no resistance, and my blade sank into his heart, smoothly as a slaughterfish trailing through water. He spasmed briefly, but long enough for the bottle to hit the wall with a hard thunk that reverberated in the pitching chamber. I froze, listening to his blood dripping down the sides of the sheet he'd halfheartedly draped over himself down to the floor. Silence, and I thought I had made it out fine, when a loud knock sounded at the main door.

""Captain! Captain Tussaud! Are you all right sir? We... We heard a clamor. Captain? We're coming in!" I scrambled back across the chamber in the precious few seconds they took with the lock, not caring about noise as I tried to keep my footing against the rocking floor. The door opened just after I slipped through the window and dove off the balcony, diving as deep as I could. Staying under, I desperately kicked in the vague direction of Cheydinhal, only coming up for air when my lungs demanded it off me and my vision blackened.

Gasping, I broke the surface of the water, treading and my sides heaving. I'd gotten farther than I thought, the lights of the city had faded, turning into vague twinkles in the distance, leaving only the thin slivers of the moons to illuminate the inky night. With no pursuers, I allowed myself the luxury of floating on my back, catching my breath.

That could have gone better, but the job was done, and Vicente needn't know of my near miss. I could have taken them of course, a few aging pirates with nothing but ragged trousers and dull scimitars would be no match for me, but I was an assassin now, and had a professional standard to uphold. I mentally berated myself for my idiocy. Damn drunkards and their precious liquor. I had never understood them; the only time I'd been drunk was an awful, foggy experience that I would never willingly recreate. To go through life in a constant cycle of inebriation and after effects was unthinkable. After staring at the sky for several long minutes, I continued my swim to the east shore of the lake.

My armour dried instantly again as I rose from the murky shallows, making it a pleasant walk back to the sanctuary. The night was cool for summer, and my new boots fit my feet better than any shoes I'd ever owned. They were strong, and didn't make a sound as they passed over the hard dirt road. Before I reached the city, I ducked into the forests to follow the wall, out of the sight of the gate guards. On the east side, I approached the grey expanse of stone and hauled myself up the wall, using crumbling gaps as hand and foot holds. At the top, I launched myself off, feeling the rush of the night air against my face. My foot hit the grass at an angle, and I instantly regretted my stupidity as the pain made me lose my balance. I limped to the abandoned house as quietly as I could, cursing myself with every step.

Once safely inside the sanctuary, I was greeted by Teinaava, who was reading quietly in the entry hall. He looked up from his book with a big toothy grin.

“Welcome back, sister, how did your contract go?”

“The pirate captain is dead, and no one saw my face.” I chose not to divulge my slip up.

“Excellent. Sithis must be pleased with his newest daughter. Oh, but what happened to your leg?”

“Landed wrong jumping off the wall back into the city. Misjudged the distance.” I sat down on the bench beside him, sighing with relief when my foot didn't need to support my weight any longer.

“Why in Sithis’ name did you climb the wall?”

“I didn't feel like changing out of my armour, so it seemed like the thing to do.” I raised my shoulders slightly.

“The guards would have known not to interfere. We’ve fixed things with the count of Cheydinhal; unless you murdered a child in the middle of market day, they would leave you alone.” He laughed lightly, but I didn't think it was directed at me. “You couldn’t have known that, of course. Next time though, just walk through the gate.”

“I will, I guess, thanks for the tip.”

“If you permit me, I’ll give you another one. I think M’raaj-Dar is still awake in the study, working on a new spell. Get him to heal your leg before going to see Vicente. It looks painful, and those stairs can be murder.” He grinned again, full of a sinister warmth. “In fact, Lucien once used them to kill a peasant who fell through the well. That was a fun day.”

“Where would the study be? I don’t remember it from my tour.”

“Through the training room.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you later.” With a slight groan I rose from the bench and hobbled across the room. Once inside the now empty training room, I saw a door I had previously overlooked. Opening it carefully, I walked into a dimly lit space. The air was thick with the smell of an apothecary, and floor to ceiling bookcases lined two walls. A massive table lined the other two, covered with bottles of every possible shape and size. M’raaj-Dar was pacing at the far end of the room, occasionally jotting down a note on a piece of parchment. At my entrance, he turned to me and hissed.

“What is it you want?” The malice he exuded was impressive to say the least.

“Teinaava said you would fix my ankle.” I decided on the direct approach. He bristled visibly, but brought himself under control and nodded to me.

“Sit,” he pointed to a chair. I sat, and he removed my boot. He ran a claw along my leg, tracing the bones, and muttered a few words. My ankle grew hotter than I thought I could stand, but I managed to keep myself from wincing. The heat subsided, and I was able to put my weight on it without pain. He threw my boot at me and went back to his work without another word or growl. I put it back on and headed for Vicente’s room.

I knocked, and it was several moments before the latched creaked and he opened the door, looking considerably gaunter than he had just before I’d left.

“Ah, Alanna, welcome back. I trust all went well?”

“Yes. He’s as dead as dead can be.” I hoped my air of competence did enough to cover my slip up.

“So, the pirate has been eliminated. Excellent. No one will mourn his passing, and Sithis has been appeased. Please accept this black band as your reward. It is a ring whose powers are very useful to those who value discretion.” Vicente handed me a thin black ring, made of some kind of soft metal I couldn’t identify for sure. It hummed in my hand as I took off my glove to slip it onto my middle finger. The metal constricted as it slid, attaching securely, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Thank you. I look forward to my next assignment.” I wasn’t really much for jewelry, even if it was enchanted. The poor waterfront thief in me had hoped for something more lucrative. Vicente chuckled at my words, a low rumbling sound that couldn’t help but radiate warmth, strange from someone so cold and dead.

“I don’t have any contracts for you currently, business has been slow since the uncertainty of the Emperor’s assassination.”

“The what?” This was news to me.

“It’s the strangest thing, one of the most high-profile targets in this era, and it was neither us or the Morag Tong. The Emperor and all his sons were murdered. I don’t think the Imperial Council has any idea what to do.” 

“Do we know who did it?”

“I’m afraid answers are in short supply, even for an organization with sources such as ours. It’s no real matter though, the public doesn’t know who did either, so by default they will assume it was us. And Sithis does love his chaos... Anyway, business will pick up soon I’m sure, matters of succession often require a black hand...” He chuckled with a grin that exposed teeth, thin pale lips stretched tight over his fangs.

“How often do you have to feed, might I ask?” I wasn’t quite sure that he would answer the question with his promised openness, or if he might feed on me instead for my impertinence. “Only if you don’t mind answering,” I added. He laughed yet again- at least he had a sense of humor.

“Not at all, I did promise, didn’t I? Well, I guess there are two answers to your question. Theoretically I could live for hundreds of years without feeding, although the impact that would have on my, no, any vampire’s, sanity is not pleasant to think of. I prefer to feed daily if I can get around to it, especially with a new recruit in residence. Going long periods of time increases the inhumanity of my appearance, as you’ve no doubt noticed.”

“You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, not for my sake.” He chuckled yet again.

“That’s very kind of you. It’s a standard practice of mine, ever since Antoinetta.”

“What happened?”

“You’re just full of questions, aren’t you? I may come to regret my offer.” Not a chuckle this time, just a smirk.

“Sorry. I’ll try to stop if you want.”

“Not at all, I’m just trying to provoke a reaction. Your face always remains so stoic, it’s a remarkable gift actually. To answer your question, the first time Lucien brought Antoinetta here, he did not have enough time to send word, and the poor girl was scared witless by my face. She had never seen a vampire before, and she did not take it well. She tried to set me on fire.”

“I’d say that’s plenty witty.” He gave off a full throated, booming laugh at that, one of his most exuberant so far. He wiped at his eyes and his fingers came away tinged with red.

“How you can say something like that with such a straight face, I will never know. Anyway, I had intended to go out and get someone to eat just before you arrived, so farewell. Get some sleep, Alanna, you have earned it.”

“Goodnight Vicente, happy hunting.” He bowed his head slightly, and then closed the heavy door and walked up the stairs with his customary grace. I waited just long enough that heading the same way would not seem odd, and then went to my quarters.

Antoinetta was sprawled over her bed, breathing lightly while she hugged a stuffed animal of some kind. The other bed was empty, and I had to fight back the urge to hurt her. The soundproofing magic made it tempting beyond accurate description, but I had no wish to go against the rules of this organization. I also didn’t absolutely hate the girl either, so I instead went to my own bed.

It had not been that long since killing my aunt, only a week or so, but I found myself longing for a real kill, one born solely from pleasure, not business. While enjoyable and fiscally rewarding, assassination lacked that very special touch, that sense of rightness that transcended all else. That was the source of all that connected and detached me from the universe, that blissful feeling of inner peace right after. I knew from experience that thinking about it only made the longing stronger, so I forcefully shoved it out of my mind and with effort put myself to sleep.


	7. It Was Only an Accident:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall on a guy's head, Alanna feels some new stuff.
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> So I got some adhd medication and it's really helping. Welcome to what will probably be a semi regular update schedule for the first time ever.

Chapter Seven - It Was Only An Accident:

I woke up the next morning to see Antonietta’s smiling face staring down at me. “Good morning!” She was more cheerful than I could ever imagine myself being. “Breakfast is ready, let's go!” She called out before practically skipping out of the room. Since it seemed I had no choice in the matter, I sighed and dragged myself, with no small amount of regret, from my comfortable bed. I had slept in my armor, so I decided to leave it on, finding it much more comfortable than any of my more socially proper civilian clothes. While I was asleep, someone had brought in a dresser and a nightstand, presumably for me to use, complete with a mirror. I admired the armor for more than a few seconds before following Antonietta out the door.

The kitchen was filled with the smell of a million different breakfast foods, as if the cook hadn’t been sure what to make.

“Who?” I managed to ask Antonietta in a gap between her stuffing food into her face.

“Oh, that would be Mort.” She gestured in the skeleton guardian’s direction with a piece of toast.

“He has a name? And cooks?” I’d never heard of an enchanted skeleton construct that could cook.

“Well, he can follow a recipe. He doesn’t have a tongue though, obviously, so the results can be a little unpredictable.”

“So why don’t you just have him cook all the meals?”

“Because it tastes like shit, he can’t even make the bacon crispy!” Gogron boomed as he sat down at the table with a thud, and nonetheless heaped a generous portion of limp bacon onto his plate. I grabbed some for myself.

“It’s not that bad,” I said after a taste test. Actually, I thought it was quite nice, if a bit salty.

“And when was the last time you had bacon?” Antonietta had a point.

“Well, I guess never. We were too poor for it most of the time. Also, my aunt was a vegetarian...” I trailed off. Gogron looked at me in shock, mouth hanging open wide, bits of apparently inferior bacon hanging out.

“You poor, poor creature,” He spoke with his mouth full. “What an awful woman. Meat is a human right!” he was getting obviously worked up at the prospect of my deprived childhood.

“Don’t worry, Gogron, I paid her back in full.” I chuckled darkly at precious memories. The others seemed to get my allusion, and smiled along with me.

“Still, the fact that this is your first bacon is beyond sad. We’ll have to fix that.” Antonietta pushed up from the table with so much force that she nearly toppled over. Swaying a little before righting herself, she pushed Mort out of the way and banged some pots together with her back to us. Gogron chattered pleasantly while we waited about the make of his new axe, and didn’t seem to expect much conversation in return.

Sometime later she returned with a sizzling plate of meat that smelled far more appealing than what I’d had before.

“Give it a second to cool,” she warned.

“I’m a dunmer, born of fire- or some shit like that...” I said before shoving the meat in my mouth as if it had personally attacked me… and regretted my decision. Refusing to acknowledge my mistake, I chewed slowly, deliberately showing off. Although painful as oblivion, my dunmer ancestry saved me from the worst of the burns; I still had about four taste buds left as I swallowed the last of the meat.

“So, how is it?” Antoinetta was staring at me with her huge blue eyes, obviously seeking approval anywhere she could get it.

“Much better than the other, no offense, Mort,” the skeleton looked at me and shook its bones, obviously disgruntled. I managed to speak without crying out, reputation intact.

After burning off all my taste buds and eager for some work, I excused myself from the table and went to find Vicente, hoping it was early enough that he hadn’t yet gone to sleep.

Once down the stairs I knocked on the solid wood, and was greeted with a faintly audible “Enter,” from within. I obeyed, and found him sitting at his desk with a book nestled comfortably in his lap. His cheeks were flushed red, and his plumped face looked relaxed and peaceful; he’d obviously done well on his hunt. He turned to me and smiled a fang filled grin.

“What can I do for you this morning, my dear?”

“Well, I was wondering if you had a contract for me.” I don’t know why, but I felt a sense of trepidation asking for a job, as if Vicente would suddenly reveal that it was a trick and the whole family was nothing but a con set up by the watch. Even the sheer ludicrousness of the image of Vicente dressed in the rough plate armor of the guard wasn’t enough to dispel the feeling.

“Already? I do have something, if you would like, but I do not know how fond you will be of this particular assignment.”

“And why not?” I was curious despite the warning.

“We need you to stage an... accident. Kill the target in the manner specified, and you'll receive a considerable bonus.” Ah, an accident, definitely not what the growing need inside my skin was calling for. Still, a job was a job.

“Okay, tell me what I need to know.”

“The target is a Wood Elf named Baenlin. You will find him at his home in Bruma. Enter secretly and avoid his manservant, Gromm. On the second floor is a secreted door leading to a crawlspace. Inside are the fastenings of a mounted head that hangs over Baenlin's favorite chair. Loosen the fastenings any night between 8:00 pm and 11:00 pm, and the head will surely fall on Baenlin as he relaxes in his chair, as is his custom. If Baenlin is eliminated in any other manner, or if the manservant Gromm is killed, you will forfeit the bonus.” I listened closely as he spoke, making sure to commit the time table to memory.

“Is there a time limit to this task?” I asked gravely, definitely disappointed at death by statuary.

“No, there is not a strict deadline.” Even I smiled at that one. “That being said, sooner is better than later, no?”

“Of course, Vicente.”

“Good luck. May the Night Mother keep you in her embrace.” I nodded to him and exited the room. I hadn’t gotten far up the stairs before I was again accosted by Antoinetta.

“So, what’d you get?” Her eyes were shinning in vicarious thrill.

“Some bosmer in Bruma, I have to make a hunting trophy fall on him.”

“Oh,” she looked disappointed, “well that’s boring!”

“Tell me about it,” I said as I kept walking up the stairs.

“Well, how do you plan on entering this man's house? Through the front door?”

“Well I had thought to look for a window, did you have a better idea?” I knew she meant well, but I couldn’t help but bristle at the implied incompetence.

“No need to bite my head off, I just meant to remind you that Bruma houses usually have cellars because of the cold." It was actually a good suggestion, I had to admit. A cellar door would work really well as an in.

“Thanks,” I said as I gritted my teeth against the contact and put my hand on her shoulder. She brightened instantly and continued to follow me and chat happily as I made my way to my bed to retrieve my belongings, and then even to the front gate of the city before wishing me luck and parting ways.

It got colder as I went farther and farther north, the wind played against my cheeks, and as the ground really started to slope up the first tinge of snow started to mix in with the dirt.

It was really coming down by the time I reached the gates of Bruma around late afternoon, though I couldn’t see the sun through the clouds. The guards didn’t even seem to see me as they opened the gate to let me in.

Bruma was big, but felt full of space alone, without a whole lot of population density or infrastructure to fill it, as if it was more of a concept of a city than a real one. I hadn’t been there more than a couple times before, enough to know where the inn and a few shops were, but not much else. Deciding that I couldn’t do anything until I had more of a geographical idea, I headed for the inn.

Luckily, it was quite busy for a town of this size, and I was able to blend into the background as I grabbed a table in the corner. Several nords lined the bar counter, and yet more capered around the fireplace, dancing dangerously close to the flames. Despite my hope, they didn’t fall in. The clock on the mantle read a little after six, so I had some time to kill, sadly not literally. A barmaid eventually made her way over to me, and I ordered some soup with little real interest.

The nords continued with their revel, and no one paid any attention to me. My soup was delivered after a little, and I sipped at it, listening to the ambient conversations but not picking up much of interest. I stopped the barmaid when she made another visit and asked if she had a map I could borrow. She looked flustered for a second, then came back with Bruma’s guidebook. It didn’t have a map exactly, but it gave me enough of an idea that I could probably find it on my own: I at least knew where the rich people lived. I went back to my soup and was surprised when a figure in a hood darker than mine sat down across from me. I brought my hand to my dagger under the table, but the figure set a yellowed parchment envelope on my table before I had a chance to draw it and stood up as suddenly as it’d come. It rushed back in the direction of the door; I of course was faster.

Outside in the darkening snow, the figure seemed to realize I’d followed and started running. It didn’t get far, before a hand on his shoulder and a kick to the leg brought it down. It gave off a startled squeak as it fell to the ground, and I heard the thud of knee on stone.

“Don’t, don’t hurt me,” the voice squeaked out. “I’m a friend!” I pulled off the hood and turned the figure around. A tiny little bosmer stared up at me with wide, frightened eyes. “I'm a friend, “He squeaked out again, sounding increasingly like a mouse with a cat’s paw riding its tail.

“My friends tend to die given enough time, speak quickly and I might not make that happen.” I put a slight growl at my last word, not that this pathetic creature needed much in the way of persuasion.

“Just check the paper,” he stuttered out, “We have a certain unholy matron in common.” I let him up, and he scampered away into the night like a frost troll was at his heels.

Back inside the tavern, my soup had been cleared away, but thankfully the overzealous barmaid left the elf’s envelope where it was, out of laziness or conscious direction I couldn’t say. Inside was a simple note that read: Your target lives three houses west of the south gate. It was unsigned and unadorned aside from the flowing script, but far more helpful than the guidebook had been. A glance at the clock told me I’d managed to kill enough time to earn my bonus, so I headed off through the blizzard in the direction the note specified.

Following Antoinetta’s advice, I made my way around the back of the small estate. There was in fact a cellar door with a lock that proved no match for my tools, and I slipped in, glad to be out of the cold – not that the cellar was much warmer.

I muttered the life detection incantation and threw in a little hand wiggle to extend the duration and focus the area around the house — not exactly how the spell went, but magic was fluid and didn’t mind when I experimented. The only two blobs that remained were about fifty feet above me, so I moved forward on the balls of my feet. The lock on the inner door wasn’t very hard to pick, and soon I was edging up the stairs into the house proper.

It was a traditional Nordic architectural theme, rich but somehow still lacking compared to the rest of Cyrodiil. Must be Skyrim’s influence. Nords generally went for function over flash in all things. The blobs were on the first floor and, peeking around a corner, I saw an elderly mer in a chair along a wall, which I guessed was my target. The biggest nord I had ever seen sat in another chair a few feet off, his giant battleaxe leaned against the chair, hand resting on it like a loyal hound. The mer was engrossed in a book, looking perfectly at ease with a glass of wine in his free hand. The nord was not engrossed, his eyes were fixed on the front door, good thing I hadn’t tried to go in that way.

I saw stairs leading up and moved silently to them, keeping to the edge to avoid creaks. On the second floor, the hidden crawlspace was in the side bedroom, easily found on the side of the house above Baenlin. By the collection of battleaxes and sundry other weapons I guessed it was the manservant’s. the door was set into the wall, and with a little encouragement from my picks it opened and slid smoothly backwards. The dusty crawlspace was surprisingly empty, littered with a few mostly empty crates of holiday decorations; I guess when you had a whole basement you didn’t need too much storage space. At the far end the anchor points for various wall decorations were evident.

The stag heads’ were the largest by far, and I reached out to loosen the ropes, but froze. Kills like this were such a shame, it would be so much more fun to run down there with the blade of woe and add to the lacking décor with red paint. The temptation was great, but with effort I finished with the fastenings and headed back down the stairs.

As I reached the basement door, a thud rang out, and I turned back to look at the spectacle.  Gromm was lurking over a squished red mass of noble clothing and blood with a deer head sticking out the top. He gripped his axe so tightly I could see the whites of his knuckles from where I stood. I took one last long look at the crumpled mess that used to be Baenlin and fled into the basement and out into the snow.

Outside, I considered my options for the night. It was damn cold, and the inn had been very warm, but the hooded figure’s presence made me guess that it wasn’t all that secure. Considering that I wasn’t at all familiar with Bruma, I decided it’d be best to set out home without delay. Home, I thought to myself, already I think of the sanctuary as home. It was an interesting thought, and I wasn’t quite sure where it came from. Home had always been my late aunt’s house, but it had never been a Home. The sanctuary was one, for all its quirks, and I wanted to be there. It was an interesting idea, uncomfortable, but at the same time I think I could get used to it, given enough time.

With these thoughts in mind I set off into the frozen night. It was cold, but the exertion of walking soon warmed me up and I was glad off it. The chill in the air felt nice on my face, and the moon poked out through the faint clouds, casting the snowy tundra in ethereal light.

The rest of the walk was eventful as I left the snow behind, and before dawn I arrived back in Cheydinhal. This time I walked right through the gate, and the guards didn’t pass me a glance, although I wasn’t sure if that was because of the supposed bribery, or that they actually didn’t see me. The warmth of the sanctuary was almost oppressive after the night, but soon faded as I got into bed. Antionetta snored gently in the next bed, and I was soon asleep.


End file.
